A Little Fall of Rain
by Slytherclaw12
Summary: Since the time Bella was 13 years old, Jacob Black has dominated her thoughts. Now she's 17 and hasn't seen him in three years. When she goes back to Forks, knowing that Jacob doesn't feel the same anymore...things get interesting. AU/AH.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** So I admit I'm writing this for purely selfish reasons, and I've been planning it for a ridiculous amount of time. So I kinda hope you like it.

* * *

**Prologue**

I have no clue how I ended up in this mess.

I'm hiding in my own closet, curled up into a ball with my arms wrapped around my knees. On my birthday, no less.

_Please, please, please don't find me._

"Bells!" I hear someone shout from downstairs. I stop breathing and fight to make no noise whatsoever. He won't find me here—even if he happens to inspect my room, he'll only glance and see I'm not here.

"C'mon, this is ridiculous," says another voice that's too close for my liking. I jump, and then hiss—my elbow scraped the wall. "Get out or I'll bring Jacob up here."

"No," I plead. "Alice, really, just leave—"

Then the closet door opens and two big, shining gray eyes are looking down at me.

"Bella," she sighs, "he wants to see you. You're being an idiot."

She crouches down and silently waits for me to cave in.

"I can't," I whisper. "I just can't."

"Why?" she challenges.

I pause. Well, there are a million reasons, really. But now that I think about it, they all sum up into one big, pathetic excuse: I'm _scared_. To my extreme humiliation, my eyes well up with tears and my throat aches from the effort of keeping them at bay. Alice wraps a tiny, supportive arm around me.

"Oh, it won't be bad," she soothes. "I don't understand why you're so upset."

I'm scared. Really, really scared. But I'm not going to admit it.

"Fine," I whisper weakly. "But if everything turns out horrible, it's your fault."

She beams. "I know."

With strength no one would dream a little thing like Alice possesses, she yanks me to my feet and drags me out of the closet. Her hands grip my shoulders and she leads me to the foot of my bed.

Then I hear a hesitant knock. My whole body tenses in preparation.

"Ye-es?" sings Alice happily.

A throat clears outside the door. "It's me."

"Come in."

I try to escape Alice's grip, but I know it's all in vain. She truthfully is stronger than she looks. Before I can make any real progress, the door opens. My hands automatically fly to my face to wipe away any residual tears.

And there stands Jacob Black.

His hair is longer than it was a couple months ago, when I first met him. It falls into his eyes, and every few minutes, he pushes it back in aggravation. He's taller now, too. We used to be the same height, but now he's exactly five-foot-six—four inches taller than me. He is beginning to look older, the boyish roundness of his face slowly melting away. All these changes somehow make him look even more entrancing than before.

Of course, I'll never admit it to his face. Even if I know he _likes_ me, too. As I think of him revealing his secret the other day, something in my stomach flutters and I struggle to fight a slow smile from stretching across my face. The only thing that holds me down to reality is the situation at hand. _This_ is terrifying. I blanch.

"Bella?" he says quietly, crossing the room.

"Yes?" I squeak.

He takes a seat beside me, and Alice dances out the door with a smug grin.

Jacob groans. "I wanted to wait until high school for this…but when I told Alice, she almost broke my wrist." He holds it up. It's red and swollen.

I gasp and gingerly gather his hand into mine. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Your cousin's insane," he mutters.

I laugh weakly. "Yeah…"

Jacob pulls his hand away and rests it on his leg, which is now bouncing up and down. He appears nervous, which is actually adorable, if I'm being honest.

"So, Bella…do you want to…" He clears his throat. "You know…be my girlfriend?" As he talks, his voice goes a little higher with every word.

This time, the smile can't be fought. Except it isn't just a smile, it's a gigantic, glowing grin that makes my cheeks hurt. I'm afraid of what my voice might sound like if I speak, so I simply nod.

I have a boyfriend. He's my boyfriend. I'm someone's girlfriend. We're boyfriend and girlfriend.

Jacob Black is my _boyfriend_…

It's hard to wrap my head around the concept, but feels wonderful nonetheless. Almost too wonderful to be true.

Jake lets out a breathy laugh and wraps his arms around me, squeezing tightly. He's surrounding me and his embrace feels so nice, I just have to return it. The hug doesn't last as long as I want it to. I immediately feel emptier when he lets go.

"We should go downstairs…" His voice trails off.

I shrug, still smiling and now a bit light-headed. "All right."

This was the best birthday ever.

**::**

Now that I'm thirteen years old, a _teenager_, I feel perfectly eligible to have a boyfriend, but I'm afraid of what my dad would think. I keep it to myself, even though I'm old enough to make my own decisions now about these kinds of things. But I always have this feeling that he knows. Whenever Jake comes over to spend time with me, Charlie gets a suspicious glint in his eye that makes me squirm with guilt. He never says anything, though; he just smiles and keeps on doing whatever it is he does.

My mother, Renee, obviously knows. She's my best friend. I suspect that she told Charlie. So in fear of an embarrassing discussion, I've taken to spending a lot of time outside.

"Hey," Jacob whispers to me one day in the middle of October. Our one-month anniversary, actually, but I don't want to act clingy and sappy by bringing it up. We're sitting on my front steps, enjoying the warmer weather while it lasts. According to everyone at school, a cold front is approaching.

"You know what I feel bad about?" he asks.

"What?"

"Not getting you a present."

I almost swoon. He _did_ remember! Okay, so I can't give him that much credit. It's exactly a month past my birthday, after all. But it's still adorable.

"It's all right," I assure him. "I didn't get you anything either."

His expression turns to confusion in an instant. "Why would you get me something for your own birthday?"

My heart sinks. _Oh_. He isn't talking about our anniversary, after all. I lift myself back up quickly, though, because he's a boy and boys probably don't remember things such as that.

"Yes, you did," I say stiffly. What an idiot.

"What do you mean?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes, and wait for him to come to a conclusion. Is it _that_ difficult to remember?

"Oh," he says slowly. "Bella, that wasn't a gift. That was just…that's what I wanted."

Underneath all the bronzed skin, I notice a pink tinge creeping to the surface.

"Oh," I echo, not sure what to say. At that time, I knew he liked me, but I remember all too well the words he spoke before…_I wanted to wait until high school_ _for this_… Maybe Alice didn't really force him.

"But I want to get you something for your birthday," he declares. "Even if it's super-late."

"No," I say, sharper than I intended. "I don't like gifts."

"Don't care," he says cheerfully, throwing an arm around me so I was crushed to his side.

I grin into his shoulder. "Fine," I relent, "you can get me a gift. But nothing expensive, okay?"

He loosens his grip and straightens up, almost as if he wants to protest, but then he freezes completely.

"I think I might know," he whispers.

I blink. That was quick. He didn't even rush off to his sisters for advice yet. Maybe that's a good thing—maybe it's homemade or something equally endearing. And inexpensive.

"What do you have in mind?" I inquire slowly.

His cheeks color again before he can look me in the eye and answer. "What about a…a…"

"Spit it out, Jacob, you're making me nervous!"

"A kiss?" he says nervously.

A rush of air escapes my lungs. Jacob wants to kiss me? Well, of course he does. Boys want that kind of thing, after all. And so do I. I've been wondering for the past few weeks when one of us would get enough courage to do something so…coupley.

Apparently Jacob wants to now.

My eyes are wide as I nod, silent.

His face breaks out into a smile, but the smile fades, turning into something more serious and anxious. Maybe he's only doing this to make me happy.

"You want to, right?" I ask.

He scoffs and mutters, "Duh."

I grin. We aren't going to kiss now, because he can probably sense I'm still scared to death. That's fine with me. Jacob gives the best hugs _ever_.

**::**

My state of absolute bliss extends well into the New Year, and eventually, Valentine's Day is coming up. I feel bad that I don't have anything for him except for a box of chocolates. Dark chocolate, because I know that's his favorite. I grip the box tightly, hoping he didn't get me anything. His mother and father have no idea we're together and it would look strange if he bought something.

So I sit outside on the front steps, knowing that he isn't going to be here for another twenty minutes, but secretly hoping he'll be early.

And he is. Jacob clambers out of his father's truck not five minutes later. He runs up to me, looking behind his shoulder to make sure Billy drove away, and pulls me into a tight embrace.

When I see what's in his hand…well, the smile on my face is absolutely ridiculous—borderline embarrassing. But of course I don't care. I take it delicately and can't seem to look away from the small Zip-lock bag, almost analyzing it.

The way he only wrote the first letter of my name in cursive, but the rest immaculately printed. And the way he got the B to curl around itself so beautifully…I'm suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of something I can't place—appreciation? But there is something else. Something that tugs and wrenches at my heart almost painfully, but a good painful. Something that sends me soaring.

Inside the bag is a package of typical Valentine's Day candy; I wonder where got it. I smile even bigger at the thought of Jake walking up to the store just for me. Or maybe the candy was originally meant for him, but he wanted me to have it instead? Either way…

Before I can even consider the action, I launch myself at him. A sharp inhale of breath tells me it was unexpected, but I don't care. I just hold him closer and rest my head on his shoulder. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I feel his arms encircle my waist.

But something is different in the way he holds me today—something better. Something more powerful. I look up to observe his face (he grew another four inches) and see that it's more nervous than usual.

"Jake? What's—?"

Before I get the entire sentence out, Jacob's head tilts toward mine. I hold in a gasp and struggle for my sanity. I let my eyes close and just as I begin to think he's only playing a cruel joke on me, Jacob's soft, full lips touch mine. So gently, so hesitantly, but it sends shockwaves through my entire body. He kisses me again, firmer this time, and I reclaim enough of my common sense to kiss him back.

Both our eyes seem to open at the same time, our faces an inch away.

"Wow," he whispers.

I can't formulate any coherent words, feeling as if I'm floating on air, so I just smile a bright, glowing smile and leave it at that.

**::**

The room is dark, because we're watching _The Exorcist_. I don't know why Jacob wanted to watch a scary move so much, but I agreed because I'll do anything for him. His breathing is a little more labored, like he's nervous, and I wonder why. Is it the movie? It's not scaring me, though the actors seem to be trying pretty hard.

This is one of the darker scenes, so it's hard to see much of anything around me. But somehow, I can tell that Jacob's eyes are flitting back and forth to my hand. Almost like he wants to hold hands with me. Yes, we've held hands before, but never in the dark. Somehow, this seems more…intimate. I wonder if it'll feel different.

And I find my eyes doing the same thing as his. We catch each other's gaze at one point, and I smile sheepishly at being caught. He smiles back and inches his hand in between us. I do the same until they're side by side. My breath catches in my throat as his hand slides over mind. Quite suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the fact that I can move closer to him. More than our hands could touch—maybe our legs, and arms, and I can lay my head on his shoulder and mold myself into his side. So I do.

My stomach is in knots, but in a good way. It's a strange fluttery feeling. I've had butterflies, but this is even more intense. It doesn't have a name. It feels wonderful and scary and frustrating…

"Bella," Jacob whispers after a few more minutes. "I love you."

My eyes widen and I find myself unable to answer back. He loves me? I never thought about this. Do I love him back? I decide that yes, I certainly do.

"I love you, too."

He ducks his head to brush his lips against mine.

A few hours later, my head is a jumbled mess as Billy drives me home. I'm probably too young to know what love is. But still…it feels nice to say it, even if it might not be true. I really really really like Jake. Love is foreign.

**::**

"You're...you're…what?" I croak.

"Breaking up with you," he repeats calmly.

I gape back.

"What?" he asks, obviously confused at my mute state. Well, I think it's rude and cold, and my heart feels like it will shatter even further. Does he just not care? I glare, trying to look tough despite everything, and march out of Forks Community Pool.

My mother, who is lounging in an embarrassingly revealing bikini, catches sight of my face. "What's wrong?" she asks in surprise, but I don't answer. Just keep walking.

_I need to get out of here, need to get out of here…_

Our house is only around the corner. About a second before I walk through the front door, I burst into tears.

Through the agonized sobs, I remember that it's the first day of summer. Wonderful way to celebrate the end of the school year. But the sarcasm is only underneath all my other thoughts tinged with despair—all I'm capable of thinking is why. _Why why why why why_.

This is the exact moment in which I realize that I really am in love with him.

**::**

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

I turn over to my side, throwing a pillow over my head.

_Thump, thump._

"Shut up," I groan.

_Thumpthumpthumpthump_—

"What!" I snarl, giving up the idea of sleeping in. This is just too irritating.

"Let me in," says a muffled voice from outside. "Bella, seriously, it's almost noon! The pool's been open for two hours, and we're meeting Jess there."

I scowl and cross the room to open my window. Angela Weber climbs through the relatively small opening, wearing shorts and a tank top with a brightly colored towel thrown over her shoulder. When she's safely inside my room, she sighs and looks around.

"You need to let me in through the front door once in a while."

"I'm never downstairs," I mumble.

She rolls her eyes and plops down on the bed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You and your antisocialness…"

"Ang, that's not a word."

"I know."

After I reluctantly dress and follow Angela into the bright sunlight (certainly an oddity for Forks), I'm awake enough to notice something is…wrong. The way Angela is acting today is unnatural for her, like she's carrying something heavy on her shoulders that no one can see.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Her brow furrows and she looks down. "Nothing, nothing."

I sigh heavily. "If you're not going to tell me, I'll just ask Jake…" That is, if he feels I'm worthy enough to talk to today.

"No, no!" she counters swiftly. "I haven't eaten yet. We should get something from the snack bar."

The terrified look on her face does not escape me, but I don't push it. Maybe Angela and Jacob got in some sort of argument. That is morbidly satisfying, pushes away my foreboding thoughts, and makes sense all at once. But it's not like I'm jealous of Angela for suddenly being BFFs with my ex-boyfriend. They tell each other everything—things that he never would tell me…

"He tells me so much that I'm actually a little disgusted," she said one day last week, after a long phone call. "I think I know everything. And when I say everything, I mean _everything_."

I did my best to ignore the sharp pangs of betrayal, anger, and jealously, but it was too much. And it showed. Angela then sighed sadly and swung an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a much-needed hug.

"He's nothing special."

And that's what I tell myself now, or whenever else I need reassurance that I'm not missing out on a great deal: _he's nothing special_.

But he is.

The pool is crowded as usual. It seems as though everyone in the little town of Forks gathers here on Saturdays during the summer, but today especially, since it's sunny. I recognize everyone, but some faces stick out more than others—or just one. Jacob…

When my eyes finally latch onto _him_, Angela's face grows more anxious and she tugs on my hand. "Snack bar. Let's go."

I don't move. Jacob is laughing at his friend from the reservation, Embry, who just pushed Sam Uley into the pool unawares. Stupid boys and their stupid pranks. He doesn't even spare me a glance. Then the sparkling grin seems to shift to something softer…something that I recognize. It's _my_ smile. He's _my_ Jacob again. I let myself hope that maybe he'll look at me…

But his head turns the opposite way, toward the entrance. There's a throng of people crossing the threshold, but I mostly notice Jessica Stanley. She's my best friend next to Angela.

"There's Jess," I say, working hard to keep my tone even.

"Yeah—c'mon," Angela hisses in my ear, pulling harder. "We need to leave, now!"

"Why?" I ask faintly. "It's Jessica. You said we were meeting her…"

She huffs. "Yeah, never mind that. I'm kind of…mad at her." Her gaze wanders over in Jacob's direction.

"Why?"

She just shakes her head. Before we can reach the snack bar, Jessica catches up with us.

"Bella!" she squeals and pulls me into a tight hug, decidedly more similar to a chokehold.

"Hey," I laugh quietly. "You're late."

"Sorry," she says earnestly. "My mom needed help around the house."

Her and Angela fall into idle chat while I look back to Jacob. He's no longer looking at the entrance, but at us. Well—no. Not us. More like…someone in particular. Not me. Angela? Jessica? I nix those ideas as soon as I think them. Jake wouldn't look at Ang like that, and him and Jess hate each other.

But there is no one behind us.

Jacob eventually turns his attention back to his friends. It's the Jacob that I've come to know in the past month: hardened, bitter, and rude. Like Sam. I worry for him every day, worry about exactly _how_ bad of an influence his Quileute friends are. They turned him into someone I don't recognize. Sometimes when it's just us, when it's almost like old times, I can see the old Jacob underneath the new exterior. It's rare, though. Very rare. I wonder if it's because of his parents fighting so much these days…

All this thought about Jacob is making my chest tighten in that familiar, painful way that I like to avoid at all costs.

"I'm going swimming," I mutter.

They don't hear me, though, as their conversation has turned into fierce, intense whispers that I can't understand. Jessica looks pleading, and Angela looks furious. I figure that I probably don't want to be stuck in the middle of it for any length of time. Jessica is always dragging petty drama with her and dropping it on anyone she can, which is why we aren't as close as we used to be. Angela is too good to be fazed by that, though. I envy her patience.

In the water, everything is so much simpler. It's just the cool, calming liquid against my skin, keeping me afloat. I can hide in the crowds of people, pretending not to exist. The very best part is that Jacob can't see me.

But I can see him even more clearly than before; he's looking back at my two best friends with that soft expression again. I feel an irrational spasm of hurt before I quash it.

Angela, quite abruptly, storms away with the angriest look I've ever seen on her relatively calm face. I'm curious as to how Jacob feels about this new development, but his eyes are still trained in the same place.

Then it clicks.

Jacob is looking at _Jessica_.

I suck in a mouthful of air and duck my head underwater, then find a corner in the deep end of the pool to sit and lean against. I wonder how long I can stay down here; maybe if I'm lucky, I'll drown.

Why is Jake looking at her like that—like she's the only girl in the world? If anyone isn't special, it has to be Jessica. She's so generic and airheaded. She isn't right for him; I'm right here, can't he see that?

For the first time in two months, I feel like I could cry.

My lungs are burning, but I force myself to stay underwater for a little longer. I'm not sure why—maybe because I don't want to see their faces again. I only come up five seconds later because I see a familiar face swimming toward my corner of despair, looking urgent. I welcome the opportunity to get some much-needed oxygen. The eight feet I have to swim to the surface feels like forever; I'm not a fast swimmer.

I gulp as much air into my lungs as possible before turning to Mike Newton and smiling. "Hi, Mike. What's up?"

He casts an apprehensive glance toward Jacob. "I dunno if I should be telling you this…"

I grimace. Maybe I really don't want to hear it.

"Tell me or I'll drown you."

Okay, maybe I do want to hear it. Just a little.

"Jake's gonna kill me," he sighs.

He begins a long-winded explanation of a night of truth-or-dare. "Lauren Mallory thought it would be funny to dare Angela to kiss Jacob, and I don't know why, but she did. Then Jake dared Jessica to kiss him, and she acted like she was all disgusted, but I could tell she wanted to. They kinda…enjoyed it a little too much…"

"Oh."

I'm in denial. What a load of crap! But then I think about it—Mike never lies to me. He likes me too much. He wouldn't say something cruel to hurt me. Yeah…I believe him. I'm fuming and heartbroken, but remind myself to keep it underneath the surface.

I exhale and run my fingers through my wet, tangled tresses. "Thanks, Mike."

"No problem, really." He leans in closer. "Jacob is an asshole if you ask me."

I nod vigorously, but don't believe it. No, not really…I'm trying to convince myself of something that isn't true. I still love him. Of course I do. How can I not?

Mike wades away without another word.

**::**

"You can say no."

I will not cry.

No matter what they say, no matter how they look at each other, _I will not cry_.

"Seriously, it's all right," I manage to choke out. "You really like each other."

Jacob looks anxious as he surveys my face. "But if this is gonna hurt you, Bells…"

I shake my head. "No, no, really. I'm happy for you."

I will not cry. But it is swiftly getting to the point where I can't swallow past the lump in my throat, causing physical pain alongside the mental. So I do the only thing I can think of before losing it—I run.

Angela catches up to me before I can go far; I'm alerted of this by a gentle hand on my back.

"I'm sorry," she says earnestly. "I tried to tell them."

"It's okay," I whisper. "They were just trying to be…you know…"

She sighs. It's silent after that for a long time. It warms me minimally to know that I have such a good friend. I can't even hold it against her for kissing Jacob. It was probably just a peer pressure issue.

"You know what I don't understand?" she asks quietly. "Why they're asking your permission. They knew you'd say yes, but mean the opposite. I think it's kind of cruel."

"They like each other," I murmur. "Why shouldn't they be together?"

"Because best friends aren't supposed to date each other's exes," she says fiercely. "And you… I mean, she _knows_ how you feel about him."

I nod, but don't offer anything else.

**::**

I feel like I'm trapped inside a box.

Really, that's the best way I can describe it without getting too melodramatic. It's like it's suffocating me. Sometimes it gets better, sometimes worse…

And everything feels distant. I know everything around me is happening, but it doesn't _feel_ that way. It doesn't affect me like it should; it doesn't sink into every inch of me. One thing does, though—one thing only. But I don't know how to break loose. Maybe it's stuck with me forever, no matter what I do to change. I keep thinking, it's my life and I'm moping around, wasting every minute of it. I used to laugh at those girls going crazy over one guy and acting like a zombie when they broke up. Now I'm one of them.

I've thought about someone, pondered their thoughts until their face is etched right into my skull. I can't help but think there might be something wrong with me, because she's living the life I've always wanted with him. I worked so hard to get there…but it never happened, and it was all over because I was scared. Of what? I'm not really sure anymore. I think it's because I spent so much time denying it. There are a million excuses I tell myself: he didn't care about me as much as I cared about him, or I wasn't ready for it. But I know deep down inside that it's not even close. It's because I was _scared_.

I keep telling myself that I can't mourn over the past; I shouldn't look back. Yet there's something keeping me there in those few moments when I was held close to him. Sometimes I've moved on, sometimes I haven't, but those are two different worlds. I try to stay in the happier, carefree world, but sometimes I can't help but slide back into depression. Is depression the right word? I don't know. I don't care. It feels like depression.

I cringe at the thought of _her_. She has everything I have to live without. I know she's better than me, but whenever I bring it up, Angela protests and tells me she's just different. Well, apparently "different" is better, because if it wasn't, would I be where I am today? Somehow I don't think so. I am so many steps behind her—she's outgoing, confident…everything I stride for, but I always seem to be held back.

I'm not confused anymore. Not at all. I know the truth when I see it, and I never knew this kind of pain existed within me. It's not really physical, but not mental, either…maybe a combination of both, or something else entirely. I don't know. It hurts. I thought I could handle it at first, but when I bottle it up, it just keeps building and building until it all explodes and I lash out at people that don't deserve it. Because, after all, it isn't Jacob and Jessica's fault that I can't control my emotions.

Angela once told me that the way to forget him is to _not think_ about him. But how can I when he's everywhere? In my thoughts, in my dreams, hanging off Jessica's arm… I tried, I really did. I tried.

Memories still slip into my mind when I'm not expecting it, and it's painful. I don't know if it's love or addiction. It could very well be both. But…aren't I supposed to be ridding of these emotions? I've found it impossible. I should've never burnt him into my mind—otherwise, he'd be gone. Though still, there's something telling me to never let go. Maybe it's because I feel insecure without reassurance that he'll always be there when I need him. So far, it's been proven wrong, because he's there for _her_ instead. He tells her things he'd never dream of telling me. He holds her like he never wants to let go.

And when did he ever really love me? I don't think he ever did, because he never felt the same, and I know it, I just know it. The worst part is that I can't do anything about it. They're his feelings, not mine; it's his world. All this bullshit I'm enduring was initially just to be a good friend, but I also knew that even if I said no, even if I spoke the truth, he wouldn't live up to his word. They'd still be together.

It took a long time to convince myself that it _wouldn't_ be better to just go away. Still, sometimes I wish that I could. I wish that I could escape this madness. This is the only thing that creeps fully into my mind. It's not distant like everything else in my world, because this is the first time I've really felt _pain_—shredding and ripping and tearing at everything I have within me. Somehow he's made his way into the box I've taken to living in. It's left but one scar, deeper than you could ever imagine. I can hide it, but it still shows sometimes if I let something slip. It's difficult, and I'm a terrible liar.

I can keep secrets, just not as easily my own.

**::**

I slam the car door shut and withdraw into myself as raindrops pelt me. I only have to walk a few yards to reach my bus stop—_their_ bus stop, that is. It's not mine anymore.

"Jessica," I call.

"Bella!" she shouts, running up closer to me. We're in the middle of the road, so I lead her to the sidewalk, right behind everyone else. They watch with half-hearted interest. "Where have you been? You're usually—"

"No, I know," I say, cutting her off. "I…I'm leaving."

Her eyes are wide. A small noise from the back of her throat escapes, like a disbelieving squeak, but otherwise she's speechless. She didn't expect it. Not so soon.

"Forever?" she finally manages. I can't tell if it's rain or teardrops on her cheeks.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"When?" she whispers, stepping closer.

"Now."

There isn't a doubt in my mind that she's crying now—sobbing, actually. She hugs me tightly, as long as possible before we hear the squeal of brakes behind us.

"Love you, Bella," she mutters into my shoulder. "I'll miss you."

"Me too."

She sniffles, wipes away the tears, and runs on the bus.

I'm not thinking of Jessica, but Jacob. I can't get the look on his face out of my mind—like…helplessness or shock or _something_.

The drive is quiet. I refuse to speak to my mother, as she's the one dragging me away from my best friends—the only place I'll ever fit in. I didn't even get to say goodbye to Angela in person, the only person who stood by me in this whole mess. Jessica, on the other hand, is strange. Sometimes she talks to me and acts like we're best friends again, and other times, she couldn't care less. But aren't I entitled to be angry with her? She used to flaunt her relationship with Jacob in front of me constantly, unapologetically. Even when they broke up, she'd whine and moan about it. But God forbid I mention him at all—that was "insensitive". She knew I was going through a hard time, yet acted like a complete bitch. My parents…

It was so sudden. Last night, her and Charlie had this massive blowout. Here I am now. I knew they'd been fighting, but I didn't realize how bad it was. I'm still in complete denial. My parents are in love. This is just a dream.

As well as leaving Jacob. The look on his face…it will haunt me forever.

He heard.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! Haha I wasn't expecting that. :) The last chapter was the prologue, so...hope you enjoy chapter one!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Edward Cullen is the most perfect boyfriend alive.

In theory.

He treats me like gold and he's a perfect gentleman, holding doors open for me and kissing me on the forehead for no particular reason. He says all those nice, corny things that you hear in the movies, says he loves me…

But Edward is irritating as hell.

In the beginning, I liked him. Thought him intriguing, even, with his cryptic little remarks that seemed to be specifically designed to keep me up all night, and his strange aversion to the sun (we had a lot in common in that department). And he was gorgeous, with his unique hair color and pale skin and green eyes. Even his arrogance was slightly entertaining, as I knew he was just teasing.

He was dating a girl named Tanya when he started to talk to me. She lived somewhere in remote Alaska and was apparently insane. It took me a while to get him to talk about himself, but after he got going, he expressed several times that he wanted to break it off with her. I encouraged him to do so. She was very clingy and lived far away…and if they weren't together, hell—that'd give me a better chance.

Edward asked me to be his girlfriend the day they broke up. It all went downhill from there.

I now know that his mystique is not, in fact, mysterious—he just broods a lot. Whenever he talks about himself, it's always something negative and self-critical. It gets out of hand sometimes, and I have to remind him that he's not some hideous monster. It scares me a bit, because every once in a while it seems as though he's close to suicide. But…no. He just likes to put himself down. It's in his nature.

On the other hand, he acts like he's some sort of angel sent from heaven. He's vegetarian and likes to remind me that animals are people, too, at least twice a day. I don't agree. He knows that. The vegetarianism doesn't bother me, per se, but I wish he wouldn't try to convert me so often.

I'm even beginning to find myself less and less attracted to him as time goes on. Yes, all the girls (and some guys) in school are ready to jump him because he's so incredibly hot, but I see the flaws that they don't. He's a terrible kisser, treating me as if I'll break if he's any more aggressive, like fragile glass. His facial expressions sometimes look so dumb that it angers me. Especially the one where he's confused—this innocent, wounded look. He's so thin and pale and gaunt, it almost makes him look like a vampire. The way he talks grates on my nerves, like he's trying to be someone from a turn-of-the-century novel. I would thoroughly enjoy telling him that no one is impressed. Especially not me. There are a lot of things I'd enjoy telling him. Explicitly, might I add.

But the way he looks at me…like I'm the most precious thing in the world…it makes me think twice about dumping him. He didn't have a girlfriend before me (besides Tanya, but that doesn't count because they never saw each other), which in turn makes me pity him because he doesn't know what he's doing. How could I ever be so coldhearted as to be the first to break his heart? I'm not _that girl_.

Unfortunately, if I want to keep my sanity, I'm going to have to be.

**::**

"Hello," murmurs Edward on a particularly bright and sunny Monday morning. The heat puts me in a dreadful mood.

"Hi." I begin to walk faster, into the foyer, so we don't have to stand out in the sun.

He kisses my temple. "How has your morning been?"

"Horrible."

His face falls. "How so? I'm sorry."

I scowl. "Why are you sorry? It's not your fault." It's partially his fault.

"Okay." He grabs my hand and I let him, unable to see a way to keep a respectable distance between us.

We're almost to the top of the staircase, the spot we meet at every day, when I stop dead in my tracks. Edward notices. He stops, too.

"What is it?" he asks, searching for an answer in my eyes. I look down at the floor. I know I'm easy to read, and I'm still undecided.

"I think…" I begin, then sigh and try to start again. "Do you really love me?"

Edward stills completely. Based on the month and a half we've been together, I can recognize this as a reaction to stress.

"Yes, of course," he says. "Bella, you don't know how much I love you."

I inhale and exhale deeply, slowly. I need to word this next sentence carefully.

"I…I don't think I…love _you_."

It doesn't come out as eloquent as I planned.

Edward stops breathing and drops my hand. It takes him a full minute to say, "Then why did you tell me you do?"

"I thought you'd hate me if I didn't say it back."

His jaw is tense as he tells me, "Bella, I could never hate you."

"Right." I clear my throat awkwardly. "Well…I don't know, Edward. I don't think we're good together."

If such a thing is possible, the silence that follows is loud—loud enough to hear a ringing in my ears. I spare a glance at his face, and I hold in a pained gasp. I recognize that expression. I wore the same one over three years ago, when Jacob…well, when it happened. It's like I can feel everything that Edward's feeling right now just by looking at his face, and it kills me that I'm the one who did it. It makes me want to laugh and say, "Just kidding!" and take his hand in mine again and keep pretending. But my remorse fades as I think of how unfair it would be to Edward to continue with this. The damage is done, and I'm not pretending any longer.

"Okay," he whispers to the floor. "If that's what you want."

He walks away, sluggish and morose. It surprises me when all I can feel is relief. Not the wracking guilt that I anticipated once again, nor the sense of loss that I almost hoped for, which would mean that I really _do_ like Edward. But I don't. Never exactly did. I feel lighter than I have in months.

As I walk to my first period class with a considerable amount of energy, I reflect on what I've lost. It was certainly nice to show him off to the other girls, to see their jealous faces. I think I might miss the contact, too—someone to hold me when I'm feeling alone, someone to talk to. Surprisingly, this doesn't bother me much. I've discovered that I enjoy being alone. Besides, Edward has no sense of humor. Sarcasm is a lost cause in his company. Maybe if he made a few more jokes, like—

_No_, I force myself to think. _He is not Jacob. You cannot change people into Jacob_.

But now that I've already started to think about it, the thoughts do not cease.

—If Edward's skin wasn't so pale, if his lips were a bit fuller, his hair long and black—

I stop to lean against a locker and take a deep breath.

Time, supposedly, heals all wounds. The pain ebbs and eventually disappears until the only thing left is the scar, barely noticeable until pointed out. It takes a long time and you have to do your damnedest to try and think of anything but the pain, anything but that. Sometimes it's easier, but other times the pain is so ultimate and all encompassing, it is impossible to ignore.

Time has done its best to heal my wounds.

Yet it's always lurking on the precipice of my mind, the clearer details evading me and fraying as time goes on. When I'm lying in bed at night, in the pitch-dark shadows that bring back memories I spent years repressing, I can feel the pain creep up and work itself into my mind and body. Just when I think it's over. Just when I think I'm finally free.

Jacob Black.

I silently repeat the name like a mantra, ironically, the one thing keeping me afloat in this mess. I've been clinging to him so hard ever since I left Forks, using thoughts of him to prop myself up when I'm feeling like utter shit, but the funny thing is that it's his fault I'm feeling this way. It's like…I have to know an "us" existed at some point, but I must not think of it. Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget.

And so far it's worked. Ever since I moved to Phoenix, granted, my life has not been a total disaster. Just a little bit empty. I know who can fill that spot, but it'll never happen; I mean, what are the odds? Not very great. Jacob has probably moved on, had loads of other girlfriends better than I could've ever been. Maybe he fell in love with some girl who doesn't know just how lucky she is, some girl who can't cherish him for the miracle that he is. Whoever she is, she doesn't deserve him.

I never deserved him.

**::**

I'm sitting in the backyard with Renee, sipping iced tea out of a glass with one of those tiny, ridiculous umbrellas. It's at least ninety degrees and I'm dying. Suddenly I'm jealous of Phil, Renee's husband, who's inside playing Call of Duty or Modern Warfare or whatever the hell it is. I can hear explosions and cursing.

"So you're a free agent," Renee says with a brilliant grin. "All those boys'll be lining up, I know it—"

"Mom," I groan. "I don't want another boyfriend."

"You don't need one."

I cast a sideways glance at her, incredulous. "You were just telling me how I need to experiment as much as possible, like, five minutes ago."

"Sweetheart," she laughed, "you don't need to be official to get dating experience. Plus, you're too young to have a serious relationship. Just have fun."

I scowl and adjust my ponytail. "That, Mother, would make me a slut."

Renee rolls her eyes. "Only if you sleep with them."

"How do you know I won't?"

She smiles and pats my head. "Because I know my daughter, and my daughter is a _prude_. Thank God. It makes my job much easier, not having to worry that you're out at a wild party losing your virginity to a drug dealer in the backseat of a car."

"Mom!" I splutter, choking on my iced tea.

Renee laughs. "Just kidding. But I'm a very lucky mom, I think."

"Guess so," I mumble into my straw.

After a few moments, Renee scoots her chair closer and inspects my face. It starts to make me uneasy because I don't know what she's doing, so I look down at my hands.

"This isn't about Edward, is it?" she wondered softly. "It's that other boy."

"Jacob," I correct her, before I realize _that other boy_ could've been anyone else.

She sighs. "Sweetie, don't tell me you're still caught up on him. You were thirteen!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say in a strained whisper.

"How did I not notice?" she murmurs, mostly to herself. "All these years…"

"I'm fine," I insist, gnashing my teeth. "It was, what—three, four years ago? Nothing to still be heartbroken over. That's stupid."

Renee doesn't believe me. Her eyes tighten and she observes me for another few minutes, but all she does is squeeze my hand before heading inside.

There's no use lying to her. I'm an open book. In fact, I'm surprised I hid it for so long. It's the one thing I never allow myself to talk about with anyone—well, mostly anyone. Edward knew I had a boyfriend before him, but he didn't know it was Jacob. If he did, he'd probably shrug it off as inconsequential because I was so young.

Then why does Jacob remain one of the most important people in my life? Why does he still affect so much of what I do, what I say, what I _think_? Sometimes, if I see a boy with russet skin and long, black hair, my heart jumps and I think I'm seeing Jacob again. But then my rationality kicks in, and I realize that would be impossible. I'll never see him again. Especially not here.

**::**

My trembling hands grip the phone too tightly as I stare at the message, dumbfounded and wondering how I got here.

_"Do you want me to call you right now?"_

I already replied with a resounding yes. I could never say no to Jacob.

I scramble to refresh the page every five seconds, even though it apparently does that on its own. Still, my nerves are all over the place and I'm wondering why I made a Facebook account in the first place.

When I see that I have a reply, I almost begin hyperventilating.

_"Haha okay, bear with me, though. I'm tired."_

I glance at the clock and my heart sinks; it's almost one in the morning. There is no way we'll have a good, long conversation if he's tired.

The phone rings, abruptly it seems, and I freeze. Somehow I remember how to answer.

"Hello?" My voice cracks. I clear my throat.

When Jacob's voice sounds in my ear, I almost fall to the floor in shock. Well, then again, it calms me, but makes me grow even more anxious at the same time. He's the only person in the world who can do that. It also provides a ton of relief that even though his voice is deeper than before, it still has that pleasant, husky tone. The problem is that he's sort of mumbling and I can't hear what he says.

"What?" I ask dumbly.

It sounds like either "How are you?" or "I love you." I go with the one that makes sense.

"I'm good," I say shakily. "How about you?"

"All right."

There's an awkward pause, so I clear my throat. "How are your parents?"

He exhales sharply. "My mom is dead and my dad is paralyzed from the waist down."

First, I think he's joking. He always used to make terrible jokes like that. But then I remember that his sense of humor was never _that_ dark—so I gasp.

"Oh my God! What—what happened? Sarah is…? I am so sorry. Is there anything I can—?"

"No," he says, cutting me off sharply. "There's nothing you can do now."

It's silent for another long moment. I finally ask, "If you don't mind talking about it… How? When?"

"Car accident. A year ago. Dad was lucky, I guess."

"Jake, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." He laughs weakly. "Jeez, I really know how to kick off a conversation. What's been going on with _you_? C'mon, you can't let me do all the talking. I haven't seen you in so long."

"Well…" I absently chew on a fingernail. "Pretty good, I guess. I broke up with my boyfriend the other day."

Jacob laughs. "Nice. Since when are you a heartbreaker?"

"Since I learned it's easier that way," I say, my tone hard and bitter. I honestly didn't mean to say it, nor for it to sound like that. I grimace almost immediately.

Jacob's response isn't reassuring. "Oh…"

I chuckle to cover up the uncomfortable moment. "Yeah, but anyway, Edward was annoying."

"His name was Edward?"

"Yup. Edward Cullen."

"He sounds like an old dude."

"Sometimes he acts like one," I joke, thinking of his gentlemanly behavior and speech habits.

"Creepy, Bells. Good thing you dumped him."

I grin, even though I know he won't see it. "Yeah, I'm pretty proud of myself."

We talk about everything and nothing—our lives now, our lives before, what life would be like if I never moved away, old inside jokes that neither of us have forgotten…just like the best friends we always were. It feels as though a dreadfully heavy weight is lifted off my chest. I almost forgot what it's like to _really_ be able to talk to someone. Memories flood back, even though I thought I rid of them before, and it feels painful and wonderful at the same time. Painful because I know it can never be that way again. Wonderful because I can still feel what it's like to be in his presence. Jacob was like my personal sun. If I had him, things were so much warmer and brighter.

I need him now—I've needed him for the past three years—but I've become a pro at ignoring it.

Abruptly, it occurs to me that he's still friends with those Quileute boys—the bad influences. He's already mentioned them a few times and I've been suspicious of them from the start.

"Have you ever…done anything, like drugs?" I ask timidly. I almost don't want to know the answer, but I need to know at the same time.

"Um…well…yeah," he murmurs. "Only because I was feeling really shitty and Embry was all, 'Hey, dude, let's smoke this pot!' and I was all, 'Sure, sure'… It wasn't that great. I felt guilty as hell the next day."

This doesn't surprise me, and that makes me feel sad.

"You hate me now, don't you?" he sighs.

I almost snort. "Like I could ever hate you, Jake."

Our conversation begins to cross into potentially dangerous territory when I accidentally bring up Jessica Stanley. I haven't spoken to her since moving away, so I'm naturally curious as to how she's doing.

"Doesn't she have a Facebook?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course."

I frown. "Well, I'm going to add her. It'd be nice to catch up, even if she was a bitch for the last few months there."

"Yeah," Jacob says quietly. "I never told you this, but…I'm really, really, really sorry about…you know. Me and Jessica."

It stuns me that he even brought it up. He used to be so intent on avoiding the subject while they were dating.

"Oh. That's okay. I'm totally over it now," I insist, laughing a bit hysterically. "Never blamed you. You guys did like each other."

He scoffs. "Well, now she's evil. Always has been, I guess. But…Bella, I don't even know why I went out with her."

I roll my eyes. "You were thirteen. You don't need an excuse; you don't need to explain it."

"I just don't think you know how sorry I am. Oh my God, you must hate me now. I put you through…and you still…" He struggles to find the end of his sentence, but I understand.

"Don't worry," I assure him. "I get it. And didn't I tell you I could never hate you? Ever?"

There's a pause. "So…you're definitely over it, then?"

"Sure, sure," I chuckle. "_Over_ it."

"Bella, stop lying. You suck at it."

"What do you mean, I'm lying?" Now I'm panicking. "I'm not lying!"

"Oh my God." He laughs dryly. "I can't believe you're still mad."

"I'm not mad," I growl. "Not at you. Maybe Jessica. But I'm mostly mad at myself. I wish I _could_ hate you sometimes."

A stunned silence follows.

"What?" Jacob whispers. "Bella, what are you talking about? Why would you be mad at yourself? And why could you never hate me? That doesn't make sense."

"I—I just…because…if I—" I huff and opt to start over. "Never mind. Forget it. I'm over you, okay, Jake?"

I can hear Jacob's steady breathing stop. "Wait," he says slowly, as if he's confused. "I…never asked if you were over _me_. I kinda thought that was a given."

I was too petrified to answer for a moment. A beat too late, I mutter, "Well, I am." I will myself to sound truthful.

"No," says Jacob, now frustrated. "You're bullshitting. I mean—wait. You didn't…you never…_moved on_?"

"No, I did not," I snap. "So you can stop being an asshole."

"I'm not!" he shouts, sounding morally offended. "I just don't understand."

"You don't have to. I'll never bring it up again."

"But, hold on," he demands. "Can't you at least explain? Why you never…"

"It's not something I can explain," I snap. "It just is."

"But what _is_ it?"

"Ugh!" I grip the phone harder than is necessary until I hear it make a creaking noise. "This is so awkward."

"Why? I'm just…shocked, is all. I don't get why you'd still like me."

"Like," I mutter under my breath. "You're wondering why I _like_ you."

"What?"

"Never mind," I say quickly. I hadn't meant for him to hear that.

"Bella, you were obviously going to say something."

"How can you even tell?" I groan.

"I'm sort of a genius," he chuckles. "I can read people easy. At least you, anyway."

I scoff. He doesn't have a retort, so I assume I'm not off the hook yet. He's waiting for me to say it. Does he know, and he's just dragging it out as a method of torture?

"How's Billy?" I ask, trying to divert the attention from me. "Is he doing all right?"

Jacob doesn't answer.

I sigh. "You know what? I don't want to have this conversation anymore."

"Tell me."

"Okay, okay!" I shout in a fit of anger. "No, I never got over you! I don't think I've gone one day without thinking about you, even after I moved, which is funny because I never used to be that kind of person, you know? So, yes. I still…"

I didn't dare finish that sentence. Unlike when I was thirteen and naïve, I know that I, without a doubt, love him. It's not mutual. It will hurt me if I say it out loud. So…I don't.

"You still what?"

"Shit," I hiss, holding the phone away from my ear.

Of course, I have the worst luck ever tonight. Jacob hears it and scoffs.

"Just tell me what you were going to say! This is seriously annoying me now—"

"Yeah, it's annoying me, too!"

"Then just tell me."

My hands are shaking again. I've been carrying this with me for so long…and I figure, now or never.

"I…well, I…I love you."

There is silence. Nothing, it seems, but long, stretching silence that makes me tremble even harder.

"Bella, you can't possibly love me."

I tug on the phone cord and twirl it around my finger to try and make myself stay still. "Well…I do. I can't help that."

"But you haven't seen me for _years_."

"Doesn't really matter." Nervous chuckle.

It's frighteningly quiet on the other line for a moment, like he's forming the right words. "Are…are you sure?"

I sigh. "Of course I'm sure. Would I humiliate myself by telling you this if I wasn't sure?"

Jacob chuckles. "I dunno, maybe. I remember—never mind."

I groan. "You know I hate it when you do that. Tell me what you were going to say."

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

He sighed. "I was just going to say…I remember how easy it is to tell what you're feeling. If we were face-to-face right now, I might've been able to tell."

My heart stutters. He remembers the smallest details about me…or maybe he just has a good memory. I sharply direct myself to stop getting my hopes up for nothing.

"So…why do you…love me?" He stumbles over the last few syllables.

I almost laugh. Why _don't_ I love him?

"Well…everything," I mutter.

"You're going to have to expand on that."

"Why?" I challenge. "This is hard enough as it is! Not to mention humiliating as hell."

"Why?" he echoes. "It's just me, Bells, you don't need to be nervous."

"It's not like I can help it," I snap. "Imagine you were in _my_ situation with a girl and you were confessing it to her after two years of no contact. I'll bet you couldn't think straight."

He doesn't respond until he's sure I'm finished ranting. "I wish you'd relax."

I groan. "I'm so sorry. I sound like a soap opera."

"Nah," he chuckles. "Like I said, don't be so nervous. It's _just me_. So…why?"

"I…because y-you're…um…" I draw in a rattling breath. I seem to have developed a stutter. "Jake, I don't know how to explain it. You're just _you_."

He makes a dissatisfied noise. "Okay. Fine. I get it, you don't wanna talk about it. But I'm just trying to understand all this."

"Yeah…"

My next question has me on tenterhooks. I don't know if I should ask, but it seems almost necessary for my survival at this point, and there's no turning back.

"How do you feel about me?" I whisper.

Jacob exhales steadily. "Jeez, Bells. I mean…you moved away. I liked you even after we…broke up…but I thought you hated me. And then you were gone, so I had to get over you. And I did."

It doesn't surprise me, but that last inch of hope I still hold onto is shredded.

"I figured," I say, but my voice sounds foreign to me.

"But I still care about you," he says, a tad desperately. "You're my friend. Best friend. Even though we haven't talked since we were fourteen."

I force a laugh. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "If you'd told me this before, then…God, things could've been so different."

"You broke up with me," I remind him flatly.

"And I regretted it," he admits. "I planned on getting back together with you because I realized how stupid I was being. I was going through some shit with my parents and I thought I might've been feeling pressured because of you. Then I realized you were only keeping me calm."

My jaw is slightly unhinged. I never knew the _reason_ before. It makes me oddly buoyant, but I keep having to tell myself that this was a long time ago and not right now—he doesn't feel this way anymore—don't get caught up in it…

"But you wouldn't talk to me," he continues, oblivious to my mini-meltdown. "And once you did start talking to me again…it sort of looked like you were over me. So I pretended to do the same. It was really cruel to do that with your best friend, though. Because at that point…Angela told me. I knew you still…" He trails off.

"It's fine," I say by default. I don't mean it, though. Remembering that particular frame of time feels like I'm being drowned.

"Look," he says urgently. "After Jessica and I broke up, I made it really obvious that I still liked you. I tried really hard. But it's like you didn't even notice."

"My parents," I mumble. "Fighting."

"Oh."

There's a silent, mutual understanding between us just then. He knows what that feels like. The difference between his situation and mine is that I still have my mother.

"Can I ask you something else?" I whisper.

"Anything."

"Well…" I hesitate, but urge myself on. Now or never. "If I ever moved back…do you think we'd have a shot?"

"I don't know," he says, his voice low and contemplative. "It's possible, I guess."

"Too bad it'll never happen."

"You should visit," he tells me earnestly. "Angela still misses you a lot."

"Wish I could."

"Why can't you?"

"No money."

He sighs, defeated. "Well, I guess that's fair."

Our conversation goes back to normal for another hour, which is loads better for my nervous system. I'm still in shock. Eventually I notice the time—five-thirty in the morning.

"You'll call so we can talk again?" I ask, wringing my hands and fearing his response.

The line is silent for a minute, and in a surge of panic, I take it to be a refusal.

Then he scoffs, something so normal-Jake-like that I feel like I might be on the verge of relief.

"Of course I will," he said, sounding insulted. "Why would you even think I…that I wouldn't want to…"

He sighs and stops talking. It gives me a peculiar feeling of pain, frustration, and euphoria to hear him at a loss for words because of something I said. It's happened enough in the past few hours, but now I'm sane enough to appreciate it. For so long, I didn't hear a word from him. I'll even take an argument if it means hearing his voice. Sure, I'll cry afterwards and regret my very existence, but it'd be just like old times.

Maybe that isn't good. But I don't care.

"Sorry," I whisper. "It's just that—well, I would understand if you didn't want to talk to me again after this. If I was in your position, I'd be freaked."

"I'm not freaked," he objects. "It's just a little random, that's all."

"I know," I agree, somewhat sadly.

"But of course I'll call again," he ensures me. "Of _course_ I will."

And I believe him.

"Goodnight, Jake."

"Goodnight."

The line goes dead.

And I never hear from him again.

**::**

Until. _Until_.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So I don't know if anyone's noticed, but Bella and Jacob are the same age. Heh, I sorta did that on purpose. 'Cause if I didn't, the story wouldn't work too well... Anyway, hope you like it!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

It's two months later, and I've given up any hope of Jacob calling again. I can't say I blame him—it would indeed be strange if Mike Newton called me professing his undying love for me, even though we haven't seen each other in three years. I suppose, to Jake, I'm no different.

So I haven't been on Facebook for more than three weeks, only to save myself that crushing disappointment I always feel when I see nothing from Jacob. But one day—and I don't know why—I decide to check.

I have four messages.

The first is from Angela Weber, demanding that I visit. Two others are from Jessica, filled with nonsensical ramblings about her life and very briefly mentioning that she misses me.

The last one…

I almost fall off my chair, because it's something that I haven't expected, but I've been waiting for it all the same. To actually see _proof_ that Jacob is making contact with me again is shocking. I look at the date it was sent. Only two days ago.

_"Hey, Bells. Thanks for calling me or messaging me or…anything, really. I'm sorry if you're mad at me, I just wasn't expecting that. I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry. Can we talk soon? I miss you."_

I blink in astonishment. He wants _me_ to call? He thinks I'm _mad_ at him? For someone so smart, Jacob can be so incredibly dense.

I decide that I don't have the guts to speak to him on the phone again. I begin typing out a reply.

_"I was waiting for you to talk to me, actually. I thought I might've scared you off… But anyway, that doesn't matter. Why would you think I'm mad at you? You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just mad at myself for telling you. I'm sorry, that must've been strange."_

I hesitate before sending the message. Maybe I shouldn't tell him that, just for the sake of forgetting it ever happened…but I eventually reason that I'm being stupid. I press 'send'.

**::**

"Care to explain why you never called last night?"

I closely inspect my fingernails, bitten and uneven and altogether unimpressive. "I…talked to someone. Kind of."

Victoria makes an impatient sound. "That doesn't give me much information."

"Someone from Forks," I hint in a small voice.

She sighs a long and knowing sigh. "_Oh_, okay, okay, I got it. That one kid. Jacob…Bird?"

"Black," I correct through gritted teeth.

"Whatever, same thing."

Our Biology teacher has already begun the lesson, but Victoria apparently doesn't care. Neither do I, now that she's brought up Jake.

"I wasn't really talking to him," I explain slowly, so she doesn't somehow misunderstand. "He sent me a message and that made me forget everything else."

She huffs. "God, Bella, ever since he called you back in like February or whatever, you're so…spacey."

"Am not!" I retort, instantly defensive.

I know it's true, though. Since that phone call, the world somehow realigned itself when I wasn't looking, and now all I'm capable of is thinking about him. I'll look at a math problem and think about how Jacob was always good at math, and he'd probably help me with it. I'll look at my kitchen floor and think of how Jacob's kitchen has eerily similar tiles. I'll listen to a song and pick it apart until I find traces of him in it. Basically, I've acquired a new talent: connecting absolutely _anything_ to Jacob. It's sad. And mentally exhausting.

The hardest part, I think, is knowing that he couldn't be doing the same.

"…you listening? Bella?"

I look up with a start, then smile sheepishly at Victoria. "Sorry."

"See, this is what I mean! Stop doing that!" she hisses. "You're never going to see him again. I'm sure he doesn't obsess over _you_ like this. And you're not gonna do anything creepy, like follow him to college, because I won't let you. Pull yourself _together_, Isabella Marie Swan!"

I grimace, but eventually nod. It's not like she's being unreasonable. It's true—I need to get over him. I need to…but it's almost like I don't want to.

"Miss Connolly? Miss Swan? Care to share your thoughts?"

I clear my throat uncomfortably. "We weren't…it was noth—I mean, no, sir."

Victoria snickers. I elbow her.

Mr. Blair pushes up his square-framed glasses suspiciously, but drones on. I think he's teaching us something new, but my head is foggy now and I can't concentrate.

When she seems sure he's not paying attention, Victoria leans over and whispers, "You're coming over tonight."

I shrug without thinking. "Okay."

**::**

I decide it was a dire mistake to go to Victoria's, because so far, she hasn't shut up about this James guy she really likes. It's four in the morning and I want to go to sleep. I cast a longing glance down at my pillow—it looks so fluffy and warm and comfortable…

"There you go again," she sighs. "You suck."

"Sorry. Just tired."

She laughs. "You know, Bella, I'll never understand how you're so horrible at lying."

I don't comment. Victoria laughs again.

"Still thinking about Jacob?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. _No…but now I am._

Her eyes tighten. "Funny how you used to never shut up about him, and now all of a sudden you clam up. I'm slightly concerned."

"Don't want to talk about it," I mutter. "What were you saying about James?"

I know I've got her now—her whole face lights up. She tries to hide it by looking down, but I can see the blush settling on her cheeks.

"He…well, I wasn't going to tell anyone this, not even you, but…he asked me out today."

I gasp, as if I was actually surprised. "Tori, that's great! What are you guys doing?"

She holds up her hand, as if to halt my excitement. "Just dinner and a movie, nothing to flip out over."

"Of course it is!"

"Okay, okay," she laughs. "I know _I'm_ flipping out. He's so…" She sighs, apparently at a loss for words.

I don't get it. James isn't very attractive. But whatever, each to her own.

"Oh, by the way, is Edward still stalking you?"

"Kind of," I sighed. "It's weird. I keep running into him at the weirdest places—where I never used to see him before. It's like he's doing it on purpose."

"That's really creepy." Victoria wrinkles her nose.

I shrug. "I don't know, it might not be me. I'm not the center of his universe."

"You used to be."

I make a face. "I was not. He was just a confused, hormone-addled teenager experiencing a rush of emotion."

Victoria rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, Bella. That kid loved you. Possibly still does."

"What, are you _trying_ to make me feel guilty?"

Her eyes are wide, and she looks a bit taken aback. "No! I'm just saying, watch out. He might try to get you back."

"He won't succeed," I mutter.

"Whatever you say," she sings, grinning. "You're gullible. If he starts spewing all that lovey-dovey shit like he did before, you'll like, melt into his arms."

"Most definitely not."

I make it a point to glare at her until she gives up and falls back onto her pillow, babbling about James. Again.

**::**

Victoria must be psychic.

"Bella," Edward begs. "Can't we just talk about things?"

"No," I repeat for the millionth time, growing frustrated. "There's nothing to talk about."

Well, she wasn't right about melting into his arms.

"But just because you don't love me doesn't mean you don't _like_ me."

"Edward, I'm almost positive we covered this about two months ago. We're two different people. We're not a good couple. End of story."

"But just because two people have their differences doesn't mean they aren't meant to be together," he insists.

I just shake my head.

He's looking desperate now. Well, more desperate than before.

"We have fun together, don't we?" he asks with that wounded look that I hate so much.

Fun. I try to think back to a fun moment with Edward, and I come up blank.

"I'm willing to change for you," he declares. "I'll do anything it takes. I've spent two months trying to figure out what went wrong…and now that I know, we can make things work, right?"

Whereas before it would've killed me to see him so helpless and I probably would've taken him back…now it just annoys me. His head is hung and his eyes are much darker than usual. He practically looks suicidal—well, a different kind of suicidal than usual.

"No, Edward. You can't do anything."

"I'll do my best to win you back," he proclaims in a low whisper. "Until your heart stops beating. I promise."

"You're being pushy and ridiculous," I growl. "And you're pissing me off. Sorry, but your chance is gone. To be honest, you never _had_ much of a chance." It isn't like me to be so cold, but I just want him gone.

"I won't give up," he says. Despite his determination, his eyes are sort of melancholy. "I know you're angry with me right now, but I wish you could just see that we deserve each other. And I'm far too selfish to pass that up."

With that, he walks away. I curse under my breath.

Victoria appears at my side, eyes dancing with mirth.

"Until your heart stops beating?" she snorts. "Oh my God, how much more dramatic can he get?"

I suspect she was listening in.

"Yeah, that was…yeah."

Now she's sent herself into a fit of laughter, doubled over and clutching at me. "He—he's gonna…w-win you back—and he's gonna try—try till you're _dead_!" she cackles.

"Not now, Tori."

She takes a few moments to compose herself. "Sorry about that. But seriously. That was comedy gold right there. I shoulda videotaped it."

I frown warningly.

"So how did he manage that?" she wonders. "How'd he get you over here to talk? You usually go the other way, I thought."

"He decided it was a good idea to corner me at breakfast, then drag me to a secluded hallway."

Victoria gasps. "He _dragged_ you?"

I roll my eyes. "No, not physically. I mean, I just felt bad and I didn't expect him to still feel like that…so I followed him."

"Dumbass."

"I know."

She sighs and leans against the wall. "So how long do you think it'll take him to figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

"That he got dumped because you're still madly in love with your ex."

"You don't know anything," I snap stubbornly, looking directly ahead of me.

"Sorry," she whispers, "but it's true."

She pats my arm and the next thing I know, she's gone and I'm alone with my thoughts.

**::**

Almost directly after I step outside, I'm in a worse mood than before. It's gone up to at least ninety-five degrees. The walk home is unbearable, which I already predetermined, and I find myself wishing that I owned a car. A car with air conditioning…

I think of how Renee once promised that she'd buy me one. Not a particularly nice car, as we're living on a kindergarten teacher's salary, and Phil can't contribute much as a mediocre ball player. But a car nonetheless. That was on my sixteenth birthday and now I'm seventeen-and-a-half. A lot of Renee's plans fall through.

When I get home, I immediately check my Facebook. I don't even remember why I'm so adamant about it until I see that I have one new message.

_"Shut the hell up with your apologizing. And call me."_

I inhale a large breath and let it out slowly, in order to avoid a panic attack; I've never had one before, but I don't see a reason why I couldn't start now. Jacob wants _me_ to call _him_? Doesn't he have my number? That would make things so much easier.

But I want to talk to him so badly…even if it is unhealthy and agonizing in the long run. See, it's hard to explain. Before I started to talk to Jacob again, I always felt this dull ache somewhere in my chest. It was constant, never receding—almost so much that I hardly noticed it some days. It's not as though I spent every moment pining for him, but I did think of him. I always did, whether I realized it or not. There will always be reminders.

I don't know how I managed to make the pain so dull. Maybe it was the distractions. I'd throw myself into my schoolwork and books, follow in my mother's footsteps and find a new hobby every few weeks, and I even played a season of soccer (in which I most likely existed to make others feel superior). Through all that, who has time to mourn over something as trivial as unrequited love? Who has time to care about a stupid childhood romance?

Though there were times when it escalated. Late at night when I was lying in bed and already finished my homework, I'd think. I'd do a _lot_ of thinking, probably because it was the only time I let myself. Actually, I think my conscience was simply fed up with holding everything back and it forced me to listen to what it had to say. At night, when I was out of things to do, was apparently the ideal time. Instead of resting, I'd begin to feel depressed and vaguely wonder why. It was rhetorical, though, and I never wanted an answer, but I got one each and every time. I'd think of my life and how empty it felt. Immediately thereafter, I'd think of how only Jake would understand. In fact, Jake would be the only one to stick around to listen long enough. He wouldn't do just that, though; he'd listen without trying to give me some sugarcoated "advice" to stay strong and believe everything will get better. He'd listen to my blabbering and tell me exactly what he thought about it. He'd make things better by just _being_.

When I moved to Arizona, I didn't have that anymore. I didn't have that constant presence in my life that _made_ me stay strong instead of only suggesting that I do so. It was like there was no more sun…despite the strong heat here, I didn't feel any warmth inside—didn't feel happiness. At first it was intense. I hated everything and everyone I looked at. Hated myself, my mother…hated, hated, hated…

And then it began to diminish, almost dampen. I still couldn't fully breathe like I used to, but I could live and function. But I felt it, always sensed it there. I used to think that it was my parents' separation causing all the pain, and I was blaming it on someone else, namely Jacob, in order to avoid thinking about the _real_ reason. So then I thought about my parents a lot. I went through that whole grieving process kids go through when their parents split, since I hadn't let myself start before. And it was a release, but a different kind, because I wasn't numbly confused anymore. But that _ache_…it was still there.

It's changed recently. The pain has changed. It was quiet before, and I got used to that, excluding all those nights when it was so acute. And after Jacob called, it was like the pain transformed into pure, throbbing agony, like nothing I ever remember feeling before. It's not only at nighttime; it makes it hard to focus every day, seeping into school and casual conversations and peoples' faces and just…just everything. The empty space in my chest is still just that—empty—but it feels very much _alive_ and always trying to claw its way out.

I wish it would stop. But then again…would it be so bad if the emptiness had its way?

With new, reckless confidence, I pick up the phone and dial his number.

It rings for a long time, long enough to make my heart thrum faster in my chest and to get me hoping he won't answer. But after a seemingly infinite amount of time, I hear his voice.

"Hey," he greets me in a casual manner, like I'm a friend he sees every day. I can't pinpoint the reason why, but it bothers me.

"Hey, Jake." I don't really know what to say, so I settle for, "What's up?"

"Nothing," he says. For some reason I also can't explain, I don't believe him.

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes," he maintains.

"I still don't believe you, but okay."

He laughs. "So how've you been? Two months since I last talked to you, so…I'm kinda curious."

"Nothing exciting. Edward's stalking me." I don't know why I get the sudden desire to tell him everything about Edward's apparent infatuation, but it's overwhelming. Maybe I want to see how he reacts.

"Your ex-boyfriend?"

"Yep."

Jacob scoffs. "He shouldn't be doing that. I should beat him up."

I laugh, albeit a tad hysterically. That's the Jake I've always known. "No, not necessary. He's just being stupid, thinking we can somehow fix things…"

"But hasn't it been a while since you guys broke up?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Don't know what's gotten into him."

"He's obviously been thinking about it," he says slowly. "And he probably just got the nerve to talk to you."

I grimace. "Probably."

Jacob pauses for a moment. "I don't like that."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just don't."

I roll my eyes. "You need a reason."

"Well, tell me what he said to you."

I hesitate before launching into the story. I'm still curious about his reaction—not to mention I've become a masochist.

"Seriously?" he exclaims when I'm finished. "Wow. That's…obsessive."

"Is not," I admonish him. "He's just really…determined. It's admirable, really."

Jacob makes a disgusted sound. "It really isn't. I wouldn't do that."

Despite everything he told me before, a breath catches in my throat and I allow myself to believe that we can make something of ourselves. But it's all a lie, a vicious lie that I've been clinging to—subconsciously, maybe, because I've only realized it now. I'm utterly ridiculous. And apparently unable to take a damn hint.

I take a deep breath. "So anything interesting happening in your love life?"

"You mean lack thereof?" he grumbles.

I smile wryly. "Sorry about that. Is there a girl you've got your eye on?"

"You don't want to hear about that."

"Do you still talk to Angela?"

"Yeah, all the time." He hesitates, and then backtracks. "Not that I'm into _her_ or anything—"

"That's not what I meant," I clarify. "I was just going to say…if you don't tell me, she will."

He curses under his breath. Maybe I really am a masochist.

"Her name is Leah," he reveals. "Leah Clearwater."

"Seth's sister?"

"That's the one."

I snort, despite the harsh pinpricks of jealousy. "Jake, isn't she three years older than you?"

"So?" he retorts, on the defensive. "She likes me."

I rack my brain for a scathing comeback before realizing I'd probably sound absurd.

"So…tell me about her," I urge.

Jacob sighs, probably feeling the same uncomfortable atmosphere I feel trapped in. Well, good. It might as well be mutual.

"She likes to read," he tells me reluctantly. "Brown eyes. They kinda look like yours, actually."

I draw in a sharp breath. Was he _trying_ to torture me?

Oblivious, he goes on. "It's funny. All the girls I go out with have brown eyes and like books. I must really like brown-eyed know-it-alls or some shit."

I grit my teeth.

Sensing my discomfort, he says, "Oh. Sorry."

"That's okay."

"No it's not," he mutters. "I'm being an asshole, talking about Leah."

"I'm the one who asked. Let's talk about something different," I suggest.

"Okay. We'll talk about anything you want."

"I don't have anything else to talk about."

"There _has_ to be something else on your mind," he says.

I bite my lip and rack my brain for anything mildly interesting to talk about, and it's like my mind has frozen. I'm sure I could've thought of anything and everything if I wasn't actually _talking_ to Jacob right now.

"No," I finally say. "Nothing."

"You hesitated. That means there is."

I bristle a little. "I hesitated because I was trying to think of something. Jake, I don't think you understand how boring my life is now."

"Well, we'll talk about that," he says easily. "Why is your life boring?"

"It just is. And you're not my therapist," I snap.

"Do you have a therapist?"

I repress a groan and press the heel of my palm into my forehead. "No, Jacob, I do not have a therapist."

"Then I'll do the job," he says cheerfully, and I feel like punching him in the jaw.

"I don't _need_ one." I don't, don't I?

"Right. Sorry. Didn't want to make you sound like a crazy person or anything. It's just…I feel like I'm talking to a stranger. You're different now."

"That's what happens to people," I say sharply. "People change. I bet you wouldn't even recognize me if you saw me."

"Pfft. Yeah right. You're still Bells. Put up a friggin' picture on Facebook or something."

"I don't take pictures," I tell him in mild disgust.

He snorts. "Neither do I." I believe him, because the only picture he has uploaded is from ninth grade. We're both juniors now and the changes must be drastic.

"But…" I say softly, "what do you mean by…different?"

It's getting increasingly frustrating to only hear his voice. This would be so much better face-to-face. Inescapably terrifying, too, but I'm sure it would be worth it. I feel a sharper than usual pang as I think of the impossibility of ever visiting Forks.

"You just…" He sounds like he's struggling for words. "Never mind."

"Tell me," I growl.

"It's not a big deal," he says, sounding almost reprimanding.

"You said you feel like you're talking to a _stranger_. I think I'd like to know why, Jake!"

"Just that…" he starts, then falters. He lets out a frustrated puff of air. "Well…I'm starting to go back and think about how things were…back then."

I follow with a delayed, quiet, "How?" and for some reason, my heart feels like it will beat harder and harder until it propels itself right out of my chest.

His voice is calmer now, almost meditative. "D'you remember when we'd walk down the forest trails in La Push and find places—like, just to claim them as our own?"

My mouth pulls up into an unconscious half-smile. "Yeah."

"There was this one place…that huge-ass rock we climbed… We found a shopping cart in the water, right?"

"You jumped in to try and get it," I recount. "Except the water was all muddy and you didn't want to tell your dad, so I ran home and stole some of Charlie's clothes."

"Yeah, and you didn't even complain about running like fifty miles or whatever," he says with a note of amusement. "I definitely woulda complained about it."

"Well, I didn't want to get you in trouble, and it was so rare that I saw you on weekends, anyway…" I toy with a loose thread on my shirt. "I missed you, even if I did see you every morning. I still can't believe you transferred to _my_ school and made Billy haul you to _my_ bus stop every day."

He laughs, but sounds slightly embarrassed. "Yeah. I really liked you."

I draw in a long, bitter breath. "Liked."

Jacob clears his throat, awkwardly. Now I wish I didn't say that.

"Well, yes," he says with a little more confidence. "And Bells…like I said, I'm—"

I cut him off, quick and sharp. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I should."

I purse my lips. "Look, we only have to bring this up again if anything's changed. Has anything changed, Jacob?"

"No. Well—never mind."

"Tell me what you were going to say," I demand. "I'm sick of this."

"Nothing important."

I glare at the floor, absolutely hating him. "Tell me."

"I don't even remember what I was going to say now."

"You're so full of shit! Why the hell do you always do this to me?"

"It's just fun to mess with you, Bells," he says with a laugh. "Remember how I always used to—"

"Yes," I bite out, "I do remember. It was practically a sport. 'Hey, I wonder how gullible Bella is today? I think I'll mess with her until she completely breaks down and spends days crying.' I mean do you have _any idea_ how much you manipulated me? It got to the point where I couldn't trust you at all anymore! Every word out of your mouth…" I stop to bark out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Just so I wouldn't fall for your shit, I had to tell myself everything you said was a lie. Why do you think I never realized you wanted to get back together?"

"W…what?" he stammered. "Bella, I…"

To his credit, he sounds genuinely confused. But I'm too furious to care, and _finally_ telling him all this is so freeing, such a rush. It's like I forgot I had all this pent-up anger until it came bursting out.

"Sorry," I whisper coldly, "but I don't like games. I don't like people screwing with my head." I'm about to tell him that he's probably the root of my trust issues before I stop myself. I don't want to make him feel guilty and obligated to make it up to me, or…something. That'd be even worse. I know about feeling guilty.

"Ouch," he breathes. "Jeez."

"I…okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Maybe I deserved it," he mumbles.

"Of course you didn't," I tell him, hating myself a little more now. "I just…no."

Now we're stuck in that unpleasant, delicate stillness again, and I don't know what to do, other than change the subject.

"How's school going?" I ask. "Got any classes with Angela?"

"Oh…um, I don't go to Forks High. I transferred to the school on the rez."

"Really?" I'm surprised, because he was fairly popular in Forks. There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I suspect his bad-influence-friends are the culprits. It's totally irrational because it's not like I ever had any proof, but I'm unable to shake off the connection: Jacob makes new friends that cliff dive, Jacob becomes evil. "When?"

"Eh, around the middle of eighth grade. I, uh, think so, anyway."

I pretend to not notice that's when I moved.

"Right," I say, trying to sound a little more dignified than I feel. "That's good, I guess. As long as you like it."

"I do."

"Good, good."

"So…" he trails off, as if he expects me to come up with another topic of discussion. When I don't, he says, "What are you gonna do about that Edward guy?"

"Wait for him to go away," I mutter.

He laughs, too awkwardly to sound remotely natural.

I inhale and exhale slowly—_in through the nose, out through the mouth_—as I try to think of something else to say. But I feel resigned as I realize that we've run out of things to talk about. He's right. It's like talking to a stranger.

**::**

That night, I dream of an outdoor restaurant filled with teenagers. Some go to my school and some are from Forks. They all mingle as if they've known each other all their lives, which doesn't confuse me because it's a dream and everything makes perfect, uninterrupted sense. Jacob has a group of girls following him around like little done-up puppy dogs, and he seems indifferent, if not a little pleased.

I'm waiting at a glass table underneath a big, white canopy, waiting for…someone. For whom, I have no idea. I look over at Jacob longingly, but fear seizes me as I contemplate facing him.

"Hello."

I start, but eventually recover and look up across the table. "Hi, Edward."

He sends a seething glare over at Jacob. "Is he hurting you?"

"No," I lie.

Our breakfast has arrived, but I disregard that as I walk over to Jake in an odd, misty haze. There's a gigantic stone fountain in the middle of the yard and he's sitting against it. I take a seat beside him.

The first thing I notice is the expression on his face. This isn't my Jacob, but he's isn't Sam Uley's, either. This is something else entirely. This is a look of frustrated reluctance.

"Bella, go away," he says roughly, without looking at me. "I don't want you here. Don't you know how ridiculous you are? _Why_ would you think I'd ever love you?"

The words burn, like hot coals are being thrown at me and sticking to my skin. Before I can think to do anything, to stop Edward from pummeling Jacob into dust, to _run_, I wake up to the sound of my own screams.

Yes. A stranger.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't worry, Bella's going back soon. She just has to realize she wants to first. :)


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This one's a bit shorter, but I'm almost positive the next chapter will make up for it. You might be able to see why by the end.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

People from Forks talk to me in random…bursts. At least, that's what it's shaping to look like so far. I'll wake up one morning and have six new messages from old friends and we'll talk for a few days…then nothing. A few months later, they talk to me again, as if they only recently remembered I ever existed.

This includes Jacob. Well, I think so, anyway. It's been a month since our last conversation.

It's unfortunate, because I don't really talk to anyone these days, apart from Victoria. Even she's getting on my nerves with all her talk about James. They're officially together now. But everyone else…it's like I dropped off the face of the earth. I wasn't a _complete_ loner, you know. I used to go out to the movies on occasion. In groups, even. I think I was well liked. But now…now I'm invisible.

Even Edward stopped stalking me.

I wonder why. Is it because I've been absolutely miserable? Probably.

Is it bad that I miss Edward only because he was bending over backwards for my attention, and _not_ because I stopped thinking he's annoying? Probably.

Will everything go back to the way it was before? Probably…not.

Normal doesn't have much of a definition in my book, but I'm feeling distinctly _ab_normal recently. I don't know what it is—it's hard to tell, because the stress of finals is clouding my judgment on stupid little passing thoughts of "maybe I'm depressed again". No, no, I don't feel depressed, but I feel…lost. Lost inside my own mind, my own body. Like autopilot. _Not_ because of Jacob, I tell myself resolutely. Just because I drift away from myself in shocking intervals each time we talk and don't talk again, it _does not mean_ it's because of him. Maybe if I called I'd still feel miserable, but a little more grounded.

I convince myself it's not worth it. Might as well try to move on.

That, and I can even almost say that I'm…on my way to getting over him. Jacob is a stranger now. We're both strangers. One night, I even stopped to consider the fact that maybe I don't love him. I could just be idealizing everything we ever had. It is possible that I don't love him—but I love the _idea_ of loving him. I even tried saying it out loud: "I'm not in love with Jacob Black." I let myself think it felt right.

But then I thought about it in the morning, and in comparison, the thought was like a slap in the face—and not a good one. More like, "Are you crazy? That would be too easy!"

So now I'm confused again.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. I can't wait to get out of Government—Biology is next, and that means I'll have someone to talk to. I wonder how many adjectives Victoria will come up with today to describe James' eyes.

But when I get there, Victoria is already sitting down, a blank expression on her face. It surprises me because I thought she would be socializing like everyone else. The bell didn't even ring yet. I automatically think the worst.

I'm right.

"James broke up with me," she says in a dazed voice. "He…he said he cheated on me. Wouldn't say who."

"Oh my god," I breathe. "He's such an asshole, I can't believe he'd do that to you."

She nods, and her expression shifts a bit. Instead of looking stupefied, she's quietly seething.

I look away, slightly intimidated. You don't mess with Victoria Connolly unless you want her to beat the shit out of you. She's kind of badass when she wants to be.

"Don't do anything stupid," I advise her quietly. "It'll only make it worse."

"He's going to pay," she simply says, wringing her hands. "Do you realize I'm like, two seconds away from completely breaking down?"

"I was trying to curb it," I mumble. "Guess it's not working…"

Her mouth lifts into a barely-there smirk. "Thanks, I guess." She takes a deep breath and launches into Rant Mode, telling me everything James has ever done wrong, then analyzing it fifty thousand different ways. She eventually decides that he was never worth it in the first place.

Is it bad if I think it's kind of funny? Probably.

**::**

Victoria and I are at my kitchen table, bent over Trigonometry textbooks. We both have a horrific amount of work to make up, and the end of the fourth marking period is three days away. So we're focusing on homework.

Well, we were, anyway.

"James was never good at math," Victoria says vaguely. "I'm better than him, I think. Yeah. So…why did I go out with him again?"

Question twenty-three receives my exasperated look, since I decidedly do not want to break my concentration. I want to tell her to shut up, for the love of god, about James—it's been _weeks_—but I suppose that would make me a hypocrite.

"But why was he cheating on me?" she wonders aloud. "Am I not skinny enough?"

I laugh once, bleakly. "Tori, don't even go there with me."

She looks confused for a split second, but goes back to self-pitying just as quickly. "Maybe it was the sex. Was it—?"

"Don't go there, either. If only to protect my fragile innocence."

She snorts. "Prude."

I scowl at my pencil. "Whatever.

It's quiet for another blissful five minutes, just the routine scrawling of pencil tips of paper. The math keeps my brain preoccupied, making it an impossibility to dwell on anything but numbers.

But wait—there's more.

"Maybe I should lose weight," Victoria mutters.

My patience snaps and I look up, glaring. "If you don't shut the hell up, I'm going to stab you." I grip my pencil and hold it up, threatening.

"Why are you so pissy today? Is it Jacob again?"

"Why must all my bad moods be linked to him?"

"'Cause they usually are, that's all," she says lightly, looking back down at her homework. But after another few seconds, she looks back up expectantly. I've seen her do this before. It's as if she thinks I'll become this lively, energetic person right on request.

But I won't. I'm not like her. Maybe it's the fiery-red hair that everyone has always envied, or perhaps her height gives her an advantage. Personally, I blame the perfect body. Come to think of it…I don't know where her unrelenting self-confidence comes from. (Maybe I should be wondering where it's _gone_ now. The fact that she's doubting herself is making me want to hunt James down and rip him limb from limb.) And still, _still_, she thinks if I get over Jacob, I'll have that confidence. She somehow thinks this will be easy. I don't think she knows me very well.

Then I remember that I don't want to dwell, so I concentrate on the last remaining page of questions. Victoria interrupts me every two minutes. I sort of want to punch her.

**::**

_Don't run._

It's the last day of school and a half-day as well, so classes consist of students being loud and obnoxious and teachers no longer getting paid enough to care. For all intents and purposes, I should be enjoying myself and socializing and all that jazz. But I sit quietly in my assigned seat. I no longer have anyone I feel like I can talk to, feeling so closed off to the world as I do now.

_Don't run._

But it's so tempting to run away—to simply get up off my chair and sprint out of the classroom, out into the fresh air, even if it is insufferably hot. No one there would taunt me, with all their damn talking and friends and happiness I don't understand one bit.

_Don't run._

I'm angry now. What's wrong with them? They have no right to be laughing, or smiling, or breathing in fucking _air_. If I have to be miserable as hell, shouldn't they?

_Don't run._

I run.

If anyone looks up to see me wrench the door open and leave in a hurry, I don't notice. I'm only concerned with finding a place to be alone, where I don't have to envy anyone and everyone that has an acquaintance. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize the foolishness of my behavior, of my thoughts. I brought this on myself. But now…I don't know how to reverse it.

After five minutes of meandering through the school, I find myself in an empty hallway in the basement. The basement is generally unused, except for an odd class or two. I hesitate, wondering if I should get back to class, and decide that this is a good enough place as any to wait out the rest of the day. Victoria will wonder where I am, but I don't particularly care. If I see her today, all she'll do is seethe about James' new girlfriend and call herself fat. I'm fed up with it. Maybe that makes me a bad friend, but again, I don't care.

_No wonder you have none_, a small voice tells me.

To my undivided horror, my throat constricts painfully and I feel heat wash over my face. It takes me longer than it should to realize that I'm about to _cry_. For the first time in two years, if I recall correctly. But the thing that amazes me most is that I'm in school. Barren hallway or not, anybody could walk in on my little episode. This thought does pass through my mind, but not enough for me to consider it further.

An odd sort of convulsion wracks my upper body and I instinctively fight it. This new development isn't something I'm supporting. But anyway, it happens, and the sobs come out in short, broken puffs and gasps. My vision is blurry and it momentarily worries me that someone might catch this, but I can't seem to move from the spot I've fallen into. I must have sat down at some point, because my back is against the row of lockers and my arms are wrapped around my knees. To my immediate right, there's a wall that my arm is wedged between, and when I try to move it up and away, the wall scrapes my elbow. For one hysterical moment, I want to laugh. This current predicament is so ironic. Granted, last time I was stuffed inside a closet, but the déjà vu won't let up. The hysteria fades then, because I now want to kick and scream at myself for being so foolish, albeit barely thirteen at the time. Rather than wanting someone I couldn't have, I had someone I was too scared to want.

Vaguely, I wonder if I'm being loud at all. Are students pausing in their chaos momentarily to wonder at the strange choking noises coming from outside? Are some laughing? I decide that yes, they must be, but now I can't stop. Crying…why hasn't anyone ever told me that crying feels so _good_? It's like everything I've held inside is being expelled in harsh, hot tears, which I just noticed are sliding down my cheeks. I calm down long enough to bring two shaking fingers to my face, marveling at the wet, almost sticky texture to my skin. Another teardrop hits my finger, which reminds me of the reason I'm crying in the first place, and I'm thrown into what feels like another fit of agony. But…good agony. Sort of like the slow burn of exercising for a long while.

I don't know what possesses me to do so, because I can't see very well, but I look up. Only then do I notice that I've felt a pair of eyes on me for the past two minutes. I blink furiously to clear my vision and Edward is standing across the hall, slack-jawed. There's a slip of paper between his thumb and forefinger, apparently long forgotten.

"Bella…" he says softly.

I don't dare move, or breathe, or do a thing to alert him of the fact that I'm there. It's silly and irrational, but I'm burning in my humiliation and there isn't much else for me to do.

He takes a cautionary step forward. "Bella," he repeats, his voice wavering.

I set my mouth into a hardened line and turn my gaze to steel. "What do you want?" I'm mortified to hear that my voice is no more than a hoarse whisper.

He shakes his head, but still takes another step. I don't want to see his face, whatever emotion it may hold, so I close my eyes again. I'm only aware of footsteps stealing closer, and finally, a warm presence at my side. Edward has taken it upon himself to decide I need some company. How…irritating.

After a distinctly uncomfortable minute, he asks delicately, "What's wrong?"

I don't know what to tell him. I don't even know where we stand anymore. I could say, "Piss off," but that would hurt his feelings, and I'm not quite up to it right now. "Nothing" would be a blatant lie, and the truth would be too personal…

"I don't know," I rasp instead. It's truer than I intended it to be.

I look up at him to gauge his reaction, feeling a twinge of annoyance as I predict an onslaught of Twenty Questions. Instead, he reaches his hand toward me, then drops it again. He looks lost. The beginnings of empathy stir inside me.

"I'm sorry for whatever caused this," he says. After a faint pang of residual annoyance, I can tell that it's genuine.

"It's all right," I whisper. "You didn't do anything."

"Boyfriend?" he guessed.

I roll my eyes—here we go. "Like I have one."

"You could if you wanted to," he mutters. Then he appears to catch himself; his eyes widen and he changes course. "I'm…pretty much over you, you know. I had a girlfriend for about a month, but we broke up because I wouldn't have sex with her."

I laugh softly. "That'll do it."

Edward rolls his eyes. "I don't care. I didn't like her much, anyway… Look," he says, quite suddenly and urgently. "I know it's none of my business, really, but was there…something else going on? Someone else? When we broke up?"

I furrow my brow. "No. Are you saying I was cheating on you?"

"No," he backtracks. "Well…I don't know, you never gave me much of a reason."

"So you automatically think that I was cheating on you," I snap.

He groans. "This isn't going the way I planned. No…I just…it's more of the fact that I'm clueless. I don't think I'll completely get over it until I know the real reason." When I try to interrupt, he holds up a hand and says, "Bella, I knew you were hiding something from the very beginning. You're not that difficult to read."

I frown. True.

"So…you're not going to tell me," he says after another long minute.

"Took you long enough."

"Uh…was it family issues?"

I very nearly flinch, not wanting that to re-open wounds I worked so hard to close. He doesn't notice, and continues.

"Am I simply intolerable?"

I almost nod. Almost. But it was quite obviously meant to be a joke.

"Another guy you liked? An ex?"

Instead of flinching, I freeze up. Just when I'm about to congratulate myself on concealing any sort of reaction—

"It is, isn't it?" he whispers. "That…that guy in Washington."

I definitely flinch that time.

"Do you…love him?" The pain in that sentence is clear, even as I look down at the floor, face chalk-white.

"I—well, I…." I falter, and then decide an explanation isn't needed, nor worth it.

"Okay. I get it." His voice is eerily quiet and subdued. "Everything makes sense now."

With that, he walks away. This feeling washing over me is a unique one—almost like relief, but tinged with far too much guilt and nausea. I never meant to tell him the truth, that's something I thought he should never know. I think…maybe I broke his heart all over again.

But I don't have it in me to think about it, because Jacob is at the forefront of my mind again, as always. My hands tremble as I ball them into tight fists. It makes me feel slightly more powerful, more whole, but overall makes little to no effect.

As _always_.

**::**

Charlie visits us in the summer—rather, he visits me. I always wonder why he never invites me to come up to Forks, but I never question it. I think he likes getting away from work and the town in general.

This summer he brings my cousin, Alice. I haven't seen her since she graduated high school, and she just finished her sophomore year of college.

"Bella!" she squeals when she sees me. "Oh my God, it's been too long. You're gonna be eighteen in a few months! What the hell? You're getting so old!"

I grin as Alice traps me in a death grip meant as a hug. "I'm the old one? Didn't you just turn twenty?"

She beams. "More or less."

We chat for a bit longer, mostly about nothing, but I can't help myself from asking—

"Hey, remember when you forced Jacob Black to ask me out a few years ago?"

Her eyes go blank for a second, but then she smiles fondly. "Yeah. He was always afraid of me."

I simultaneously find this amusing and curse myself for bringing him up. That never leads to anything good.

I plaster on a smile and look around, confused. "Where's Charlie?"

"He'll be here in a minute," Alice assures me. "You know how terribly awkward he finds this."

I grimace.

"Not because of you," she says quickly. "Just…Renee."

"Ah." I nod in understanding.

When Charlie walks through the front door and spots me, he does that thing he always does—this half-smile that I know wants to grow bigger. But Charlie doesn't like displays of emotion…that is to say, he doesn't like his own. Neither do I, so our reunion is quite tense.

"Hey, Dad," I say quietly, stepping forward to give him a hug.

When we separate, he looks a mixture of happy and uncomfortable, so we eventually sit on the couch. I can tell he's missed me, and I can tell he loves me. He never says it, but I know, so I give him a small smile. He smiles back. We've always been good at the silent communication thing.

"How's Jacob?" I ask, just as I do every year. Might as well punish myself thoroughly. "I heard Sarah died. And Billy's in a wheelchair."

He nods slowly, thoughtfully. "He took it just like any other kid would've. He was a wreck, but now he's better. Coping."

I looked down, feeling oddly chastised. "You never said anything about it…"

"Didn't want to worry you or…or anything."

"Oh." I pause before adding, "I talked to Jacob a few months ago."

Charlie's demeanor brightens considerably. "That's good, Bella, really good. He misses you a whole lot."

I blink in surprise. "He said that?"

"Well," Charlie says gruffly, "he doesn't have to say it. I can tell."

I laugh softly. "Right."

A twinge of sadness passes through me as I realize Charlie will be leaving in a week's time. That's all I get with my dad. A week and Christmas. I wish I could be closer to him, because I took every day in his presence for granted for fourteen years…but there just isn't enough time. That, and I don't remember how to let people in, rather than push them away. It's a sad admission I came to terms with a long time ago.

As soon as Renee walks into the living room with Phil trailing behind her, Charlie clears his throat and straightens up. Renee looks decidedly anxious, as if he is delicate glass that she's treading too close to. Phil simply looks uncomfortable.

After a long moment, she tells him, "Your room is ready."

He nods and smiles. "Thanks, Ren—Renee."

I bite my lip and swing my legs back and forth, fighting the urge to cover my ears and shout, "La la la la, I can't _hear_ you!" and ignoring the fact that he was about to call her Renny. Damn pet names. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

There's an awkward pause, and Phil slowly reclines in his chair. Sensing the tense atmosphere, Alice cracks a joke, finally breaking the ice. The four of them are soon enough engaged in polite conversation. I back away, ghosting toward the kitchen.

For the next half hour, no one notices I've gone, so I prop my chin up on my palm and stare blankly out the window. Yet another boring summer to look forward to. I sigh and think of things to do that won't bore me to death. Sometimes, last summer, I would take a walk without paying attention to the direction in which I was going. I'd just walk and walk, turning corners without looking at street signs, and pretend I was lost. I'd look down at the road instead of straight ahead. Some places it was dark and smooth, and other places it was cracked, worn, and tired. I frequented those streets the most, I think, because I didn't feel like I was intruding on something perfect and untouched.

When Jacob's face appears in my mind, I really shouldn't be surprised. Exasperated, I focus on old, tarnished roads to banish him, but it doesn't work. I growl under my breath.

You know, I think to myself, my summer would've been so different last year if only Jacob was there. And if he was here now—

I gasp softly, and a little thrill runs up my spine. Suddenly I'm restless.

It was an epiphany of sorts. I don't know why it never occurred to me before; maybe I was just too busy pitying myself to put two and two together…

I _can_ visit Forks. Why not? When Charlie leaves, I'll go back with him. Just for a few days, maybe a week. I can see Angela again. Jessica. Jacob—

Excitement rises from the center of my chest and up into my throat, choking me. My eyes actually prickle from the intensity, and I draw in a deep, calming breath.

I take a moment to consider.

It hasn't been fun carrying a torch for someone who is unattainable. It's not a healthy way to live, clinging so hard to the past. Sometimes I think it might kill me. What will happen if I see him again? How much will that hurt?

I can't deny it anymore. My life is on the brink of something colossal—at least in the way of my feelings for Jake—and if I don't see him soon, I'll be stuck somewhere between love and indifference forever. Oh, it might alter over time. Well…no. Not alter. More like…dull. Fade. I can't let that happen; I can't let this black cloud hang over my head for the rest of my life.

And that last mite of hope that was shredded during the first phone call seems to have rebuilt itself, but now it's even more delicate, like silk. The tiniest tear could lead to my destruction. Even so, the little bit of optimism is keeping me going. For now.

I wonder if I should feel stupid. I _do_ feel stupid. Why haven't I stopped feeling like this? Shouldn't I? I don't think I want to. An alteration, though, would be favorable. I need change.

**::**

"Mom," I say, tentatively. "I want to ask you something."

She looks away from the TV, momentarily distracted. "What is it, sweetie?"

I clear my throat and shift my weight to one side. "Uhh…well, I was just thinking. I don't really get to see Dad a lot."

Her face crumples. I know this is a source of guilt for her and I'm hitting below the belt, but for some reason, I feel like I need to go to extremes. She nods, urging me to continue.

I sit down beside her, and the rest comes out in a rush. "And I haven't seen everyone in Forks years and Ja—" I correct myself before the whole name's out of my mouth, "Angela keeps telling me to visit, so I figured that maybe…" I trail off hopefully.

Renee's brow puckers and she examines my face. I tense and try to keep my expression neutral.

"Hmm…" she hums thoughtfully. "I suppose I can't say no."

"You can," I disagree immediately for a reason I can't quite discern. "I mean…of course, you're the parent. But I want you to say yes."

"Oh, of course I can't forbid you from visiting with your father," she sighs. "I'm just not sure that's why you want to go."

I blanch. "Yes, it is. Angela, too."

"Jacob Black?"

I consider for a moment, and then nod slowly.

Renee gets a calculating look about her face and she slightly tilts her head to the side. "You're…nervous."

I shake my head furiously.

"Sweetheart, I don't think it's a good idea…" she says, biting her lip.

"Why?"

"You're only going for Jacob."

My mouth drops open. "I most certainly am _not_!"

"I'm your mom," she reminds me. "I can read you like a book."

I look down at the floor, defeated. "Okay. Fine. Yeah…I am. Doesn't change anything."

Renee looks devastatingly sad, but she composes herself soon enough for me to question whether or not I imagined it. "Bella, I don't mean to pry—I know you like to be alone with your thoughts and all that—but what happened between you two? You never told me, you know."

I barely refrain from cursing out loud. But honestly, it's amazing that I got this far without her asking. Impulsively, I decide that I should tell her. She used to be my best friend, after all.

"We…were together for a while," I say carefully, "and then we broke up."

She sighs. "I knew that already."

"Right." I laugh nervously. For a second, I wonder why it's so much harder to talk about it with Renee. "I mean, there's not much else to it. He went out with Jessica. You knew that, right?"

She peers at me curiously. "No. No, I don't believe I did."

I cringe. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she sighs. "I just…I wish I wasn't left out in the dark. That's all."

The guilt is burning me, killing me, and I'm not sure why.

"I don't think it's a good idea to go, either," I whisper. " Jake likes to play with people's feelings. I don't…trust him."

"Maybe you should stay here, then," Renee says, voice guarded.

I let out a hollow laugh. "That's the thing. I can't."

She purses her lips and doesn't answer for a few seconds, which frankly scares the shit out of me, but then she nods in understanding. "Okay."

My heart stops beating.

"R-really?"

She smiles a sad, sympathetic sort of smile. "Yeah, of course."

I walk back to my bedroom in a numb daze. When I finally collapse on my bed, limply sprawled out on my back, I'm already having second thoughts.

This is a bad idea, it's not worth it—I'll get hurt, my mind will never be at rest because I won't be able to know what he's _really_ thinking. From what I remember, manipulating emotions is his favorite pastime. Maybe he's changed, maybe not, but I've found that people such as Jacob stay static throughout their entire lives. Like Alice, I reflect with some amusement. She's very manipulative, even when she doesn't need to be. There's a sinking feeling in my chest. Going to Forks is a death sentence—a suicide mission.

But living like this, stuck in limbo, is no longer an option.

I sluggishly drag myself across the room and begin to pack.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I apologize profusely for the amount of time it took to get this posted. I would say it was because of finals, but that's a lie—this chapter was by far the most difficult to write, and not to mention the longest. Hope it's good.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

I didn't think being in an airport could make such an impact—hell, I mean, the plane landing didn't even do much for me. Yet here I am, wondrous and starry-eyed because I'm _home_.

Well, close, anyway. It's only an hour drive.

I haven't said anything since we got off the plane, so as we approach Charlie's police cruiser, he asks with concern, "You all right?"

"Of course I am," I slur, having finally reached the point of tiredness that makes me feel slightly drunk, and climb into the passenger's seat.

It isn't until I see the sign alerting me that we have arrived in Forks that I begin to feel terrified. Still hazy, but terrified. What if everything is so hopelessly different, and it's nothing like I expect, and the people don't give a damn that I came back? What if—

I come dangerously close to smacking myself across the face. _Get. A. Grip_.

I should stop trying to think ahead. It's taking up too much time—time that I could be using to admire the fact that I'm here, finally, after all the years thinking it was impossible. Though I have to admit, the solution was quite obvious. I wonder why I never thought of it.

My half-formed musings don't live long, though, and as we finally reach Charlie's house—_my_ house—I'm too delirious to fully appreciate it. Without waiting up for Charlie, I drag myself up the staircase and to my old bedroom. But I can't collapse into bed, because there are no sheets or blankets.

Just my luck.

So I sit on my mattress with heavy eyelids, waiting for Charlie to come back upstairs with bedding. I hardly register him gently tugging me to my feet, then pushing me back down onto the bed. I crawl under the covers, ignoring the ache behind my eyes, and finally drift off to sleep.

**::**

I wake slowly. First I'm confused, thinking it must still be early morning since it's fairly dark. But after I glance at the clock, I see that it's two in the afternoon, so I decide it's a good idea to take in my surroundings.

I do. And I am immediately thereafter assaulted with a headache.

I'm in Forks, I say to myself, repeating it.

Forks.

Forks.

Fucking _Forks_.

The shock wears off after a few minutes, and I can't help but be slightly disappointed. My heart is still hammering in my chest, but…it's nothing like I expected, to wake up in my dreary childhood bedroom. Recently my life has supposedly been boiling down to this moment, and it doesn't even feel like a moment at all. It's so normal, so…_routine_. So much more familiar than I thought. Maybe familiar isn't the word, but it's like I've been waking up in this room for my whole life, including the past three years, and still, even in this strange stupor, I'm unimpressed.

It's just that…it would make sense to get a bit more sentimental.

My bedroom looks mostly the same, save for my entire wardrobe and an array of other personal belongings. It seems that Charlie hasn't changed the room since I moved away, but it's emptier, chillier, an echo of my previous life. A shell. An imitation. For some reason it feels fitting.

I don't know why it hits me just then, but it does—I'm in Forks and I _don't even care_. That causes an uncomfortable sensation to assault my nerves. I shiver.

Shaking it off, I trudge downstairs. Charlie is sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair. I don't notice until I'm closer, but he's holding the phone up to his ear. I stand back silently.

"Don't have a clue," Charlie says. "She just decided to come with me. Thought it was odd, 'cause I remember her saying how much she hates it here. Rather, uh…explicitly."

There's no doubt he's talking about me. I blink, mystified. When did I ever say…?

Charlie huffs. "I told you not to tell him, so you damn well better not." Low murmurings. "Yeah, so? Let him be surprised."

I have no idea who _he_ is supposed to be, but now that the conversation isn't focused on me, I halfheartedly contemplate the idea of clearing my throat, just so Charlie knows I'm here.

But then his face pales and he mutters, "Oh." It makes me wonder why, so I stay. "Well, make sure she's gone. Soon. I don't want Bella to see any—" Short pause. "Oh. Well…all right, but I'd still appreciate it if you sent her home."

I'm thoroughly lost and unsure as to whether or not I care what this conversation is about, so I make sure my footsteps are loud as I cross the kitchen. Charlie looks appropriately surprised and abashed as he says, "Morning, Bells."

"Hi, Dad."

He quickly says goodbye to whomever he's talking to, and appraises me for a moment. "Sleep well?"

I shrug. "Yeah."

"You…you going anywhere today?"

I still, a jug of orange juice in my hand. I haven't thought about that yet. Maybe visiting with Angela first would be smarter, just because she's never reduced me to a pathetic mess, but I feel like I might explode with anxiety if I don't see Jacob.

That's why I came, right?

I nod. "Yeah. Uh…La Push, I think."

He nods slowly, as if he expected it. That vaguely upsets me. I'm so predictable.

"When are you leaving?" he asks.

"Probably in ten, fifteen minutes."

"Don't you want to eat first?"

I think about it, and decide that giving myself too much time to analyze the situation would result in me staying here like a coward. Or simply going to Angela's instead. Really, neither of the alternatives sound too bad, but I'm feeling particularly impulsive.

"Nah," I say with a noncommittal shrug, "I'm just gonna go get dressed now."

I sprint upstairs. By the time I'm back in my room, my heart is thumping much too quickly, and I eventually conclude it is not because I'm out of shape.

**::**

I practically fling myself out the door, the idea being that if I don't get going _fast_, I won't go at all. Charlie miraculously lets me take the cruiser. I feel strange driving it, and that adds to my stomach doing back flips—not the good kind—so I begin to shake. It's only a slight quavering of the hands and I'm fighting the urge to bounce my knee up and down, but inwardly I feel myself tremble horribly. It's like coming down from a caffeine high…

The closer I get to La Push, the more I realize that I am dangerously close to breaking down.

I shouldn't be here. Where I _should_ be is in Arizona, carrying on with my abysmal imitation of a life, studiously ignoring the fact that my mind has been here in Forks all along. Because you can't live in the past, right?

I should be in Arizona. Trying to move on.

My mind supplies an endless string of the words _pathetic, weak, naïve, hopeless_. And you know? I think it's finally sunk in that it's true.

That doesn't stop me, though. I keep driving.

My heart is beating too fast. I feel like maybe it should've already peaked, and it should be slowing now, but it doesn't. My breaths are quick and erratic and I struggle to remember how to ward off a panic attack… Slow breaths? Does it look like I'm capable of deep breathing right now?

Driving is probably a bad idea, so I pull over on the side of the road. My breathing and heart rate gradually slow back to a normal pace.

That was…extensive. A bit much. Insane? Ridiculous?

For the second time since my arrival, I remind myself to get a grip.

When I look around, I realize that I'm already in La Push. That causes an uncomfortable fluttering in my stomach. I recognize this road. Jacob's isn't far. Thankfully I can accept this to some extent, so I decide to start the car again. I'm feeling braver, watching the familiar houses go by. _Now or never_.

Less than a second seems to pass, and I see Jake's little red house in the distance. I'm hopelessly scared, terrified, but I can't back out. Because he's _there_.

Whenever I would fantasize about this moment, about seeing Jacob again, I always had this notion that I would be overly emotional, impossible to control. Like the thing in my chest would swell and expand and threaten to burst. I imagined myself running into his arms, hugging him tight with no intention of ever letting go, and finally bursting into overwhelmed tears. But that's not right, I correct myself vaguely. I don't cry unless I'm angry.

And if I'm being honest, I was always afraid to think beyond that moment.

The reality is different—so very different.

First I don't recognize him, and I think it might be Sam Uley because he's so big and tall. But I recognize that particular shade of russet skin, and that posture—the way he's sitting on his front steps with his elbows resting on his knees, chin propped up in one hand. And he cut his hair…

My heart gives an uneven thump and, once again, goes into overdrive.

This feeling is nothing I could have ever conjured up, because I never knew it existed. It's impossibly heavy, resonating right in the pit of my stomach. I stop breathing and even though I tell myself to move, get out of the car to go to him, I can't make myself. My legs don't work anymore. And the alien feeling is getting worse…

I feel like I might be sick.

And just as I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my hands into tight fists…it goes away. Everything just shuts down. I feel nothing at all. It seems perfectly rational to stumble out of the car and toward Jacob—hardly registering the drastic changes, barely comprehending that I haven't seen him in years and I should be scared to death right now. The familiarity is almost choking me. But I don't quite notice.

As I come nearer, I wonder why he still hasn't looked up. I slammed the door pretty loudly, and I'm not exactly silent as I walk…

Suddenly, scaring the hell out of me, he turns around toward the front door and shouts, "Dad! When's Leah coming back? It doesn't take a half hour to help with dishes—"

"She's not coming back," says another voice, further away and muffled. I assume it's Billy. "You have another visitor."

I'm still too far away to tell, but I think he rolls his eyes. "Sure, sure, Chief Swan is dying to see me." He smiles to himself and starts to turn to face me. "Charlie, get over here and tell him—"

Upon seeing that it's obviously not who he expected, Jacob's jaw drops. He slowly shakes his head, shuts his eyes, and reopens them only to blink rapidly.

Feeling unnaturally calm, I take a step forward. Then another, and another, until we're standing face-to-face. He's a lot bigger and more intimidating up close—maybe a foot or more taller than me. It's momentarily stunning, so I just gaze up at his face. My brain is completely convinced this is a dream. But it can't be a dream, because his presence is so _real_, and his scent is so much the same… It always reminded me of the woods…

"Bella?" he whispers, like he doesn't believe it.

"Hi, Jake." I give him a small smile.

Before my brain can catch up, I'm engulfed in a pair of gigantic arms and crushed to a firm chest.

"Bella, oh my god, Bella," he breathes. "I thought you were gone, and you're here, and I sort of hate you for not telling me because you just shocked the hell out of—"

"Can't—breathe—" I gasp.

He immediately releases me. "Sorry," he says, wincing.

"That's all right," I say, unable to tear my eyes away from him. I keep firmly repeating that this is not a dream, most definitely not, but it doesn't help that I have to look _up_ to see his face now. It's just too bizarre.

It almost feels like this isn't Jacob. I mean, it is him, but…not quite. There's something off, and it has nothing to do with size.

Suddenly he tugs on my wrist and grins. "C'mon, let's go inside. I'm gonna give Dad hell."

"For what?"

"Withholding important information." He looks at me pointedly.

I smile sheepishly and follow his lead.

**::**

After I get over the shock and sympathy that comes with Billy being in a wheelchair, I'm thoroughly annoyed.

The man _constantly_ complains.

It doesn't matter if everything is as close to perfect as it'll get—he'll still bitch about nothing being on TV, or the fact that it might rain again, and I quickly discover his favorite subject is politics. He absolutely abhors anything to do with the president. I don't know much about what's going on, so I have no right to say he's wrong, but…hell. It's annoying. If I hear the word 'healthcare' one more time, I'll scream.

And apparently it's true about older people being set in their ways. The living room hasn't changed a bit. The sofa is still up against the back wall with the TV all the way across the room. The walls are still the same color, the same exact pictures in the same exact place. Except for one in the corner, I realize with a pang. It's Sarah. Before I can stop myself, I think about how she wouldn't appreciate being shoved into a corner after her death, but I quickly admonish myself. Everyone is obviously still grieving. I shouldn't judge.

Besides that, the fact that everything's so much the same is giving me the creeps. I don't know why, but I'm all of a sudden jittery and want to run away as soon as possible, because it's like I've been transported into the past—sans bitter-old-man Billy—and I'm only hanging on by a thread.

I keep throwing surreptitious glances at Jacob, hoping he understands that I want an end to this complete agony, but it's like he forgot I'm there. Finally I clear my throat rather loudly and pointedly, and he looks over at me with a start.

"Sorry," he mouths with a grimace.

Somehow he manages to make his dad shut up and I'm dragged outside toward what looks like a homemade garage. I look at him, bemused, because I don't remember it ever being there before, but he just gives me a small smile and leads me inside. The floor is littered with big chunks of metal I definitely don't recognize, but if I could hazard a guess, it would probably be car parts.

"When did this get here?" I ask.

Jacob shrugs. "I built it a while ago." He collapses on a tattered armchair with a sigh, looks around, and glances at me apologetically. "Sorry. This is the only place to sit…I'll get up."

I shake my head and insist, "No, that's okay. You don't have to—"

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Go. Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair.

I sit with a scowl. It melts away when I realize how comfortable it is, and how much I _don't_ want to sit on the floor.

"You said something about wanting Leah to come back," I say slowly, "and then your dad says something about a visitor…which I assume was me? He never said how he knew."

"He was probably talking to your dad," Jacob reasons.

Suddenly the ambiguous phone call earlier this morning makes sense. I try—and fail—to hold in a giggle.

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," I assure him.

And it really is nothing. It's just that now I have an inkling that Charlie was the one who got Leah to leave, and in addition got Billy to keep quiet about my return. What in the _hell_ was that supposed to accomplish?

"You're lying," Jacob says firmly.

I sigh. Why does he _do_ that?

And then, without warning, another blatant revelation hits me.

I'm with _Jacob_.

I hold onto the thought with the intentions of getting used to the idea, but it doesn't happen. The emotions that were previously being repressed rise to the surface and bubble over, and before I can stop myself, I fling myself at him.

He doesn't stumble under my assault like he would've before. Instead, now that he's big and strong and unfazed, he mumbles, "Whoa," with a chuckle, and hugs me back.

"Jake," I whimper, barely audible with my face buried in his shirt. "Jacob."

"Missed you, too," he laughs breathlessly.

He probably wants me to stop crushing him to death, but I don't plan on it—ever. It doesn't matter that I'm only here for a few days, it doesn't matter that he's not in love with me. I can't let him go.

"Uh, Bella?" he questions after another minute or so.

"Sorry," I mutter, and reluctantly release him. "Don't know what came over me."

_Liar_.

I inhale sharply and hope Jake doesn't notice. I can't start _thinking_—if I do that, I'll completely freak out.

"It's okay," he says, still smiling widely. "I just…I can't believe you're actually here. We all kind of figured we'd never see you again."

I grimace. "So did I."

He blinks. "So…what made you want to come here so bad all of a sudden?"

I bite my lip. I could either embarrass myself further by telling him, or I could make something up, but he'll definitely see through that.

So I do the next best thing: "It just never occurred to me that it was even possible."

Jacob rolls his eyes. "Your dad's been waiting for you to say something this whole time. I heard you like, flipped out when he suggested it one summer."

"What?" I exclaim. "That's…that's… I did not."

But now I'm unsure, because Charlie said the same thing. I don't even remember him offering.

That makes a larger impact than I care to think of, considering I should probably remember something _that_ major, but I'm still keeping myself blank and senseless in order to survive this reunion. If something _real_ happened, that would shatter this delicate shield I've created for myself.

So I begin a safe, mundane conversation that should be easier. It isn't, of course, because nothing with Jacob is ever easy. There's…something in the way, something blocking our connection. Because I know it's there, but it's just different and unfamiliar.

And not to mention the gigantic elephant in the room. This senseless exchange doesn't include the most important topic—the one I can tell is on both our minds, because Jacob can't quite look me in the eye. It would be naïve to think he's just forgotten about my confession. Instead, we speak about things like weather and old friends.

That's not what we need to talk about, but I'm not going to point it out.

**::**

The next morning is similar to the last. No matter how much shock and surprise I try to inject into my thoughts, I can't get myself to really feel it. I don't know why it's so important to feel that way, but it's so frustratingly necessary for some reason.

Then I remember that I'm supposed to be more or less a zombie so I don't lose my mind. I can feel my features harden as I make breakfast for Charlie and me, and I tell myself over and over again that it's for the best. Withholding thoughts and emotions isn't going to kill me. At least for a few days.

_Then what's the point of being here?_ says that voice in the back of my mind. The voice of reason—the voice I used to listen to frequently. But now I submerge myself in reading a label, concentrating much more than I really should.

Later, around midday, my control begins to slip, and my first thought is that I really want to see Angela because she will know what to do—she always knows what to do— so I speed away without a word to Charlie, who appears rather flabbergasted at my immediate departure.

Her house looks enough of the same to induce nostalgia, but different at the same time, which makes me feel odd and out of place. I hope she's not out, I think absently.

The door opens half a second before I press on the doorbell.

See, I prepared for this. If it was her mom, I would've smiled brightly and said a cheerful greeting, letting her usher me in. In her father's case, I'd politely remind him who I am and ask if Ang is around. Angela herself, of course, I'd have probably attacked on sight. Or the other way around.

What I did not prepare for was Ben Cheney.

He doesn't even seem to realize anyone is there, because he's looking backward and yelling, "I'll tell you everything when I get back. Love y—_oomph_!"

Ben collides into me.

Actually, I don't properly confirm his identity until he takes a step back, uttering wild apologies and straightening his glasses.

"Ben?" I say, bewildered. "Why are you _here_?"

"Do I know you?" he asks defensively. "Mrs. Weber's at the church right now. Come back later."

I frown. "That's…that's not why I'm here. I want to see Angela."

"How do you know her? How did you get this address?" he demands.

I roll my eyes, wanting to slam my head against a wall. "I can't believe you don't recognize me."

"Well, of course I don't. We've never…" he trails off, peering at my face. Then his eyes widen, quite comically, and he breathes, "_Oh_."

"Yes," I grumble, "oh."

"Bella Swan?"

"Yes," I repeat again, losing my patience. "Let me in. I want to see my best friend."

He nods, then jumps, as if he just remembered something deathly important.

"Connor!" he gasps. "Shit, we're gonna be late to the movie. Sorry, Bella, I gotta go—nice seeing you!"

Ben sprints away. I shrug and let myself inside.

"Angela?" I call when I'm inside the living room.

It's a few seconds before she emerges from the kitchen, looking weary. I barely have time to grin before she shrieks and tackles me into a hug.

I laugh, feeling better than I have in years. "Hey."

She pulls away and looks at me, eyes bright. "Bella?"

I don't bother to repress my huge smile. "Yeah."

"Oh my god," she exclaims. "You could've warned me!"

I shrug. "Sorry."

She scowls for barely a second before grinning again. I grin back. I really missed her. It doesn't feel the way I imagined—I guess this is a little more…disconnected. Maybe that's typical, after over three years.

Still, soon enough, we get talking. Talking about everything and anything, just like we used to, because we're still best friends. But then we realize we're still standing in the hallway near the front door, and Angela seems to remember something.

"Let's go in the kitchen," she suggests. "I was making lunch."

I sit at the table as she bustles around the kitchen, making sandwiches and some sort of elaborate salad. I'm slightly in awe, because as far as I knew three years ago, she couldn't even microwave popcorn properly.

"Who taught you to do this?" I ask.

She turns around to look at me, momentarily distracted, and shrugs awkwardly. "Ben, I guess. He wants to be a chef," she adds with a chuckle.

"Huh," I say. "Ben Cheney. That's…interesting."

Angela blushes, and I eye her impatiently.

"Are you going to tell me anything or do I have to pry it out of you?"

She smiles reluctantly. "All right, all right. We've been together since April. Bella, you wouldn't _believe_ how sweet he is—he used to buy me flowers every other day until I told him to stop because I didn't know where to put them anymore."

"That is adorable." But really, I could believe it, because that just sounded like something Edward would have done. I hide my grimace.

She sighs happily and continues to gush. When she gets to his martial arts obsession, I stifle a laugh, and Angela narrows her eyes at me.

"Well, it is annoying at times, but I don't mind." And she means it, judging by the dreamy look in her eyes.

I sigh. "So, besides Ben Cheney, what else have you been doing?"

It's very comical, the way her face immediately flushes and her eyes widen. "Bella!"

"Sorry," I laugh. Victoria _must_ be rubbing off on me. "Seriously, though. How's life been?"

After glaring at me once more, she smiles half-heartedly and says, "Good, I guess, but it's still Forks. The most exciting thing to happen around here was Lauren Mallory getting hit with Tyler Crowley's van in January."

I wince. "That had to hurt."

"Yeah. She's horrible, but I felt bad, anyway. She almost _died_."

"Glad it wasn't me," I mutter.

Angela stifles a laugh. "The reason it happened is sort of funny, though—I mean, if you take the whole life-or-death situation out of the equation… Lauren was trying to flirt with Mike Newton."

The way she said it seems to imply that this is something you just don't do. Weird. "And that caused Tyler's van to hit her?"

Her brow puckers. "Well…not directly. I guess she was too focused on Mike, who was completely ignoring her, by the way."

"How do you even _know_ that?" I ask. Either Mike's a real asshole now and everyone knows, or Angela has recently taken a liking to gossip, which is not probable.

"Jessica," she says absently, and then rolls her eyes. "She's been dating Mike. I'm sort of glad she's not here right now, and I know that sounds awful, but she won't stop talking about him. I can't take it anymore."

I can't help but be reminded about Victoria again; her James talk definitely made me want to slam my head against a brick wall. "I know the feeling."

Angela laughs. "You should still probably tell her you're here…"

"I know. I will. Just not today."

She smiles, hopefully understanding why. "So tell me about Arizona."

"Arizona…" I sigh. "There's not much to tell. Went out with a guy named Edward. Broke up with him because he was annoying. And…that's about the most exciting thing that's happened."

Angela looks at me bemusedly. "Really?"

"Yeah," I mutter.

"God. Didn't you have friends?"

"A few," I answer distractedly. Suddenly I ask, "Is Jacob dating Leah Clearwater?"

She stares, thrown off by the abrupt subject change. "Not…not as far as I know. Why?"

"Just wondering." I smile sheepishly. "I went to see him yesterday and I heard him mention her, so I was curious. That's all."

She looks at me closely, speculating. "You saw him before me…"

After a moment, I have no choice but to nod.

"Is there a reason for that? Because it sounds like there is."

I avoid her eyes, looking out the window and tapping my fingernails against the table, feeling antsy. I can't avoid it, though, because Angela is still my best friend…

With a deep breath, I begin to explain.

**::**

I lie in my bed that night, thinking far too much than I should be allowing myself to. I'd blame it on the conversation with Angela, but I know it's not the only reason. I haven't let myself think at all for two days, which has been a useless struggle, and now it's coming back to haunt me.

Angela's words, which still float around in my head, still may very well have a part in it.

_"It doesn't sound like you love him."_

I remember the following silence so clearly, heavily laden with a question. I didn't know the answer myself, so I left it strangely and disproportionately blank, and new questions sprouted from the nothingness. Angela noticed, I'm sure—it couldn't have just been me.

I try to tell myself my mind is too cloudy to even consider the possibility of expanding on that, but I know it's not true; my mind is shockingly sharp and clear. It isn't muddled with half-truths and other people's opinions—just cold, hard facts that come too easily for comfort.

_"What are you saying? Of course I love him."_

_"Love is when you recognize all the flaws in someone, but accept them, anyway."_

The clarity disappears, leaving murky uncertainty. There's always been a missing puzzle piece, but I was never inclined to acknowledge it until now. There's something off-kilter, like a block in my mind that won't allow me to access the…whatever it is. A memory…?

_"Bella, the way you talk about Jake is… You know no one's perfect, right? Not even him."_

Just as quickly as it disappeared, the coherency comes back full-force, in a moment when everything in my life suddenly makes sense; there's a reason for everything I've gone through, and I somehow know those reasons. Even the rustle of the bed sheets sound so very different and real…

Yet there's the sense that I used to see everything like this before. I look around, and everything seems to jump out at me. Real. Everything's real. Something inside me bends itself into two halves, and I feel so separated from myself that I jump out of bed and turn the lights on just to look at myself in the mirror—I must look different in this raw, cutting reality—

I look exactly the same.

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe to be a couple inches shorter, with less curves and a rounder face…

That's my breaking point. I slide back under the covers despite being restless and agitated and frustrated and…what am I supposed to do with myself now? Thoughts are running rampant through my head and I don't know how to control them. And isn't this why I've been repressing this for so many years? Because I've been afraid of the truth?

Why can't I _remember_?

I don't know how long I sit up in bed, willing the thoughts togo away_._

**::**

I wake up feeling no different than I usually would. I distantly remember my breakdown in a very shallow way, and actually, now that I recall, it's embarrassing to even think about it. It's alarmingly easy to shrug it off and stroll into the kitchen.

"Good morning," I say brightly.

"Morning," Charlie says roughly from behind his newspaper and coffee mug. Then he does a double take and seems to think better of his lackluster greeting. "Bella," he says. "You're up early."

"Am I?" I glance over to the clock, and sure enough, it's not even six o'clock yet. "Jesus Christ," I mutter.

Charlie's eyes hold a small amount of disapproval, but he looks like he's fighting a smile. "Didn't think you were a morning person."

"Neither did I."

I make eggs and toast for us and we eat in companionable silence. I don't know if it's the same with other fathers, but Charlie is a man of few words. I think I prefer it that way, because if it were any different, I wouldn't know how to carry a conversation between the two of us. I guess I am my father's daughter.

After awhile, Charlie's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands up. He looks at me apologetically. "I have to go to the station. It's Monday."

Oh, I realize with a sinking feeling, it is. I forgot he has a job.

"See you later, kid." Shotgun in tow, he disappears through the front door.

Not quite sure what to do now and desperate for an immediate distraction, I sigh into the empty room. Might as well clean something.

That lasts for a good, exhausting five hours, because Charlie only does the bare minimum housework required to keep a home running. I can't say I blame him because he's the only one around—that and I'm slightly grateful, as it gave me something to do.

But now it's noon and I still have hours until this day is over. Maybe I could—

Oh, no, I tell myself warningly as a conclusion forms in my head. Bad idea, bad idea.

But I have to see him.

Is that really what I want, though?

…Ah, hell.

Less than a second later, I'm reaching for the phone.

**::**

"I was wondering when you'd come by again," Jacob says, grinning. "Leaving me all by my lonesome…" He makes a pouty face.

"Why didn't you just go to Charlie's if you wanted to see me so bad?" I ask, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

He frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know," he says.

_Leah occupying too much of your time?_

The question is at the tip of my tongue, but I furiously quash it.

"Oh," comes out instead. A subject change is in dire need of right now. "I…didn't know you drove," I say, gesturing largely to the interior of the old, red truck.

He rolls his eyes. "I got my license as soon as I was old enough."

"So did I."

We pull into his driveway. I reach over to open the door, but he grabs my wrist. I ignore the sudden shiver that goes up my entire arm and ask, "What?" a bit more forcefully than necessary.

Jacob looks slightly affronted. "Nothing, I just…never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing important anymore," he sniffs.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, it is." I remember how he hounds me every time the situation is reversed. "Tell me," I press.

"No. I told you, it's not important."

I laugh out of pure incredulousness. He _isn't_ doing this again. "Jacob, seriously," I groan. "I woke up at five-thirty in the morning and got less than three hours of sleep."

"So?" he smirks.

"So_ don't_," I growl, "test me."

He laughs and throws an arm around me, which causes me to tense, but he doesn't seem to notice. I wonder if that's supposed to be proof of any lingering affection toward me, but thinking of such things is dangerous. So I let him keep his arm around my shoulders.

"So, you don't have a car," he says.

"Obviously not."

"Not even at your mom's?"

"No." I pause for a second and ask, "Why?"

His arm slides back to his side and he shrugs—the kind of shrug that looks nonchalant, but actually isn't, because you can tell from the anxious eyes. "I was just wondering if you wanted this truck."

I stare, uncomprehending. Why would he give me a truck if…?

"I know you're only visiting," he says swiftly, "but if you ever come back, even for a few days…you'll have a way to get around." Jacob gives me a small smile.

I have an odd mixture of nervousness and hopefulness tumbling around in my head. I don't know whether to accept or refuse it.

"I—I couldn't," I stammer. "It's Billy's, isn't it? Does he even know you're—"

"It's his," he confirms. "But it's not like he can drive it anymore, so I use it. I've kind of been assuming it's mine."

"You can't just give away your dad's truck, Jake."

"Did you want to go ask him?" he asks sarcastically. "He's probably inside watching TV. Fox News, I bet."

I cringe. "Um…maybe you should."

He laughs. "Bells, I'm kidding. I asked this morning. He said it's fine."

"Oh," I say awkwardly. "Then…I guess it's okay."

Jacob grins broadly. "Cool. So what do you want to do today?"

"I don't know. Whatever you want to do."

"But _you're_ the guest. I'm supposed to listen to you."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Trust me when I say it doesn't matter."

**::**

We end up walking along the shore on First Beach. We used to spend a lot of time here together, so it's effectively triggering flashbacks. I'm not sure if that bothers me or makes me happy.

"Wow," Jacob laughs. "When's the last time you took a walk around here?"

"Probably…" I do the math in my head. "Four years ago. Almost exactly."

He blinks, appearing astonished. "Jeez."

"I know, it's been a long time."

He shakes his head. "No, I mean, I can't believe you remember that."

I shrug weakly. "I remember a lot of things. You would, too, if you had to be around boring Arizonian people all the time."

Jacob stares.

"Well, they are," I retort.

"Whatever," he laughs. "Hey, what happened with Edward?" There's an edge to his voice that I recognize faintly—that is to say, I know it well, but it's changed somehow.

"Nothing," I tell him truthfully. "He stopped trying to talk to me."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I lie. "He probably realized I'm not worth chasing after. I did just drop him like garbage, after all."

Jacob looks thoughtful and oddly appreciative. "Really?"

I nod, hating how true that really was.

"That's why he stopped talking to you?" he repeated doubtfully.

"Yes. I think so."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure, sure."

"Why do you even care?" I inquire defensively, even if he _is_ right.

I can tell that makes him angry, but before he can think of a good comeback, a female voice shouts his name from a distance away.

"Jake!"

I wonder who it is. Her and _Jake_ must be on good terms.

He begins to look very uncomfortable and whirls around to look at her. After bracing myself, I do the same—only to wish I hadn't.

It's Leah Clearwater. She looks similar enough that I recognize her, but at the same time, she's _really_ changed. Ten times more beautiful, I admit to myself grudgingly. To make things worse on the jealousy scale, she lets her hair down and shakes her head a bit, causing the silky black waves to fall around her shoulders. She reminds me of a Quileute Victoria.

"Hey, Leah," calls Jacob nervously.

"Jacob," she greets him with a bright smile. As if he can't help it, he smiles back.

"What's up?" she asks, blatantly disregarding my presence.

"Um…" Jacob gestures toward me. Leah turns to look and gasps, as if she just noticed I was there.

"Bella Swan," she says, almost to herself. If I'm not mistaken, the narrowing of her eyes and hardening of her jaw could be classified as a dirty look. I'm not sure what I've ever done to her, but whatever. I certainly feel inclined to dislike _her_, too.

Jacob clears his throat, fidgeting a little, and Leah suddenly _smiles_ at me—a small, cold, carefully polite smile, at that. I smile back in a similar fashion, catching on. Two can play at this game.

"Bella came to visit a few days ago," Jacob explains. I think I detect a note of desperation in his voice, but I could be cracking up or something.

"You didn't tell me yesterday," she says flatly.

He flushes. "Because it wasn't important."

_Ouch_. I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. That mingles with confusion, because I can't quite know if he's only saying that to appease Leah, as he seems a bit scared of her. Actually, now that I look a little closer, she looks as if she could very well rip his head off if he doesn't respond with the correct answer—whatever that may be. Sort of strange, though, because Jacob isn't one to be intimidated. He's actually quite intimidating himself, being over a foot taller than me…and those muscles. To his credit, though, Leah does look scary.

She must've thought I was sizing her up or something, because she gives me another one of those looks, not bothering to be discreet. She tells Jacob, "Well, I just wanted to say hi, so I'll be leaving now. I have to be somewhere."

"Where?" he asks quickly. He sounds genuinely interested, and I don't even try telling myself that doesn't irritate me.

Leah's eyes harden and she averts her eyes. "An engagement party."

Jacob is dangerously still. It takes him a long time to reply. "Don't do that to yourself."

She merely scowls.

"Seriously, Leah. It's _not_ worth it," he insists.

She glares in defiance, her eyes somehow reminding me of razors. "If I choose to torture myself, I will do so. You have no say in it." Jacob tries to interrupt her, but she holds up her hand and continues. "I don't want to discuss this with _her_ here." She jerks her chin in my direction.

Jacob moves closer to me, and I feel the heat emanating from his body. It makes me both comforted and on-edge, but I don't know which overrules the other.

"Whatever," he mutters. "Your funeral."

With another hard gaze, Leah turns on her heel and walks away.

"_What_ was that all about?" I ask when she's out of hearing range.

"Shit, sorry," he groans. "Leah is…"

"A bitch?"

Jacob looks somewhere in between humored and offended. "I guess. But don't call her that."

I bristle. "Did you see that look she gave me? Jesus Christ."

He sighs, looking harassed, and runs his fingers through his ear-length hair. "She just thinks we…uh…well, she's going through a hard time. Her boyfriend dumped her last year for her cousin and they're getting married, but now she's into me and feeling weird about it…"

I hope the fact that I'm burning with jealousy isn't evident on my face. "Oh. Sucks to be her."

He scowls. "Don't do that, Bella."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Act so cold. She's a human being, you know."

That throws me for a loop. I pause, staring blankly, until I figure out something to say. When he puts it like that…

"Okay. Fine. I feel a tiny bit of sympathy."

He smirks. "There's my Bells."

"I am _not_ 'your Bells'."

"Yeah, you are," he says easily, slinging an arm around me.

Is he _flirting_ with me? Seriously?

To my horror, my face flushes. _Don't think inappropriate thoughts, don't think inappropriate thoughts_…shit! I try to put a little distance between us, but he doesn't even seem to notice I'm trying to move. Is he that strong? I peek up at his face. He's freaking _smirking_. My jaw unhinges itself a little. I think he's actually enjoying my discomfort.

"What the hell?" I hiss before I can stop myself.

"Huh?" he asks innocently.

"Nothing."

His smirk deepens. "Sorry, am I intimidating you with my attractiveness?"

I push him away and smack him hard—_ow_—on the chest. "You're such a jackass."

Now he really smiles. "C'mon, I was only joking."

"_How the fuck_ am I supposed to know that?" I yell, finally fed up with his mind games. "Are you doing this intentionally or is it a habit of yours?"

The smile abruptly slides off Jacob's face. "Bella, what are you talking ab—"

My tone turns low and murderous. "You know what."

"No," he shouts in frustration. "I don't know. Can we please clear this up? Because I've been driving myself insane trying to figure out what the hell's wrong with you today. What did I _do_?"

"You're playing with my feelings again, just like you always did! First you tell me there's no chance in hell we'll ever get back together, and start doing…doing _that_, and…God, I don't know what's wrong with me—why can't I get over you? You're obviously a self-absorbed, manipulative asshole, and I still…" I swallow hard, unable to finish the sentence. "Jesus Christ," I say weakly. "I'm hopeless."

I unceremoniously drop to the ground. I need to sit down, even if I do get sand all over myself.

I hear rather than see Jacob approach. I will not look up. Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground beside me.

He sighs, still sounding frustrated. "I'm…sorry. I'm not trying to manipulate you or whatever."

I don't reply.

"Bella, I don't know what to say. If that's what you think of me, then I don't understand why you still want to talk to me."

For some reason I'm reminded of Angela telling me I don't recognize Jacob's flaws. _Ha_.

"Neither do I," I admit. I finally look over to him. He has his legs crossed and his eyes are fixated on something in the distance.

"If you think I'm that horrible," he says quietly, "then…why? I don't get it."

"I don't think you're horrible," I mumble. "Sorry."

"Okay," he says slowly. "But why? Tell me."

"Why what?" I inquire, playing dumb. Of course I already know.

"Why you…"

I sigh. I'm not getting out of this conversation. I've done a really horrid job of avoiding it, all things considered.

"Why I…love you?"

"Past tense," he corrects. "Loved."

"Jake, it's not past tense."

He shakes his head a little, looking down at the ground now. "I refuse to believe you're still in love with me. I'm a completely different person now. Maybe you're just in love with who I used to be." It all comes out very awkwardly, like discussing this is too weird to be real. I'm in wholehearted agreement, I think.

"But you're still _you_," I say gently.

He makes an impatient sound.

"Look," I growl. "Listen to me. You know how girls throw that word around like it means nothing? I'm not one of those girls. When I say something like that, I mean it. Do you understand the weight it holds?"

"Yes," he says, exasperated. "That's why I don't believe you."

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. "Okay. I admit it's been a long time and I'm probably idealizing everything we ever had, but I remember the good things so clearly." I laugh bleakly. "And I've always loved you. How am I supposed to just…stop?"

The only sounds are the waves crashing onto the shore and Jacob's even breaths. I look at him again, desperate to know what he's thinking, and I'm surprised to see that he's looking back at me. He looks oddly speculative. There's something in his eyes that I remember from before, but the thing is I can't remember what exactly it is, and it scares me a little.

Suddenly I notice our heads are closer together than they were before—and getting closer. In fact, Jacob's head is tilting and I find myself moving in closer, almost like I'm hypnotized…

In a panic, I think, no way can this happen, this is crossing the line…just move away and it'll be okay, if not a little awkward. This just _cannot happen_.

But it does.

His lips are so soft and warm, but not gentle. He kisses me in a rushed sort of manner, like he's trying to prove something, and I don't even care. It's a shock to all my senses—am I dreaming? Is this real? Did I ever even leave?

Reality still encases us, but I refuse to acknowledge it. If I can just lose myself in this moment that's so far from perfect, but perfect anyway…

Well, of course it has to end.

Jacob pulls back, and he looks worried. Only then do I notice my face is set in a stunned, blank, maybe even horrified expression. I find that I can't shift it the slightest bit.

What just happened?

"I have to go," I choke.

"No," he says quickly, grabbing my hand. I don't tear it away, only because his face looks so similar to that day—before I left…it hasn't haunted my dreams in so long. I can't help but be affected by it.

"I have to go," I repeat numbly.

"I just thought you'd…I don't know what I…" He's tripping over his words, and finally, he has the sense to pause.

I don't know if he says anything else after that. The walls that were all around me, protecting me, seem to disappear. The only thing occupying my mind is what I never wanted to think about. That was _Jacob._ Kissing me. And…and…

The thoughts are too jumbled to make sense of anymore.

I take my hand away and leave.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Oh, my gosh. I am _so_ sorry for the huge gap between updates. I've been job hunting, which is a bitch, and I've had to rewrite this entire chapter at least three times. Well...at least it's long? That may (or may not) make up for it :) I truly hope you enjoy this.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Renee asks too many questions.

"How did everything go?" she cheerfully asks the next morning. I'm surprised she's even awake, considering it's before noon.

"Fine." I try to make myself sound content, but she sees right through that. Her eyes narrow.

"Then why did you come home so early? I expected you to stay for the whole week, at least."

"I wanted to." I shrug awkwardly.

"But sweetie, you look…" There's a hesitation as she tries to find the right word. "Sad." She nods, satisfied with her observation. I almost want to laugh. "Did something happen?"

"No," I say offhandedly. "Don't you and Phil need to be somewhere today? If not, you really should find something to do. I think those video games are rotting his brain."

Renee's gaze turns challenging and suspicious. "Tell me what happened. Now."

"Nothing happened, Mom."

"Was it Jessica Stanley? Oh, I always knew she'd turn out just like her mother. That _bitch_."

Considering I never actually bothered to see Jessica while I was there, I have no response, so I simply walk away. I don't strictly _need_ breakfast, and my bedroom is quiet.

Quiet…

I could definitely use some quiet.

After that revelation, I spend a lot of time there—mostly just staring at the ceiling, but thinking, too, with a furious intensity I didn't think existed anymore. My mind is a racing whirlpool, too fast to catch individual thoughts, and it can't seem to decide whether everything that happened was all an illusion, or if it was real.

Well. Obviously it happened. But what I mean is…the intentions. That's the obscure part. I'd really like to believe the best, but things aren't like that in real life. Things are never so _easy_. Though, still, when he…

That's when everything becomes total disarray. I can't think of it—and I'm not thinking of it, really—but somehow it always remains right below the surface.

I can't wait until the day when I'm able to think clearly and decisively.

** :: **

Victoria calls me three days after I return, insisting we get together.

"My house is boring," she tells me with a groan. "Like, yours is too, but at least your mom lets us do whatever we want."

"I guess so," I agree vaguely.

So she agrees to come over around two in the afternoon. I'm not really looking forward to seeing her again, but I can't place the reason. She _was_ getting a little annoying at the school year's end, but surely that was just a phase. She's probably back to normal by now, having some space from James.

Two hours later, I decide that I was very wrong.

First, Renee offers to order a pizza for us. Victoria politely declines.

"Hey," I object. "I wanted pizza."

She shudders. "Can you imagine what would happen if I ate that? I'd gain so much weight!"

I stare blankly. "Tori. That's insane. You can eat anything you want at any time and still stay in shape. Remember how I always used to get mad at you for that?"

"Are you kidding?" she scoffs. "Look at me. I'm…gross."

I glare. "I suppose that makes _me_ revolting."

"You're fine. I really need to lose weight, though."

"No. You really don't," I repeat, getting exasperated.

"How much do _you_ weigh?"

I hesitate. "One-fifteen."

"See! I weigh...eighteen more pounds than you do."

I puff out a breath of air. "Okay. That's because you're five inches taller than me and you're all muscle. Don't you do gymnastics _and_ dance?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not skinny."

"Whatever," I mumble.

She must be PMSing or something. Victoria has never been this insecure. Maybe it's just a bad day.

** :: **

Actually, it gets worse.

Another few hours pass, and we're in my room watching MTV. I'm not really sure what show it is, but it involves a lot of slutty girls and overconfident guys reciting what sounds like cheesy, scripted dialogue. Victoria claimed my bed before I got a chance, so I'm stuck on the floor. I don't really mind, I guess.

"Why do you think James cheated on me?" she wonders, staring up at my ceiling. She just finished eating a celery stick and half a granola bar I found for her in the back of the cupboard.

"Simple. He's a douchebag."

"But I must have done something wrong," she frets, her voice climbing higher with each word spoken. "Why else? Everything was perfect. He loved me."

I grimace to myself. "He…he could've just been telling you that."

I look over my shoulder in time to see her sit up. Her glare is icy. "Bella, you don't know anything about our relationship. He _did_ love me."

"But how would you know that?"

She hesitates momentarily, but immediately regains her confidence. "Well, he said he did, and I could just tell. I'm good at reading people."

I snort. "No, you're not."

"Bella. I just know. He loved me and I did something wrong and screwed it all—"

"Look," I interject, jaw clenched. "If you want to delude yourself into believing that and pine after him for the rest of your life, fine. Go ahead. No one's stopping you. But James doesn't _love_ anyone. He was only playing with you—and apparently he did a thorough job."

Victoria is dead silent, and I immediately regret my outburst. I'm almost afraid to look at her.

"Look, Tori…I'm sorry. I don't know why I—"

"You're right," she says flatly. "Of course. Because an inexperienced prude would know so much about love."

Oh.

I cringe. "I'm sorry, Victoria, really. That was out of line. I shouldn't have said that."

She glares back, looking furious. It's disconcerting, because when she gets angry, there's something akin to a predatory glint in her eye. But just when I expect her to start screaming, she inclines her head down in a sort of defeated way.

"Okay. I'm sorry, too." The corner of her mouth twitches upward and she tucks a lock of her wild red hair behind her ear. "Even if it's true."

I sigh, deciding it unwise to start a debate on that.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Victoria asks, "How was Forks, anyway? You haven't said anything about it."

I shift uncomfortably. "Uh…it was good."

Her eye-roll is practically audible. "Liar. Tell me what went wrong."

"Nothing went _wrong_," I growl. "It…just wasn't as good as I thought it would be."

This isn't completely a lie.

"Sorry," she mutters sarcastically. "Just being a caring friend here. But I know what you mean. Things probably changed a lot."

"Yeah," I agree quietly.

"I'm surprised you didn't move back already," she jokes. "Then you and Jacob could've been together forever and ever."

My head whips around to face her. "_Don't_ mention him," I snap, without thinking.

Victoria's eyes widen. "Okay. I'm sorry. Won't mention him." She pauses. "I wonder if James ever thought we'd get married someday."

I grit my teeth and suggest, "Maybe you should find a new boyfriend, Tori."

"I don't _want_ to." The stubborn edge to her tone is very familiar to me.

"It wouldn't kill you."

"But wouldn't it be like betraying James? Things might still work out between us, you know."

I ball my hands into fists and take a deep breath. "But it's not betrayal, because you're not together. By cheating on you, probably with the same girl he's with now, he's shown he clearly couldn't give a shit whether or not you move onto someone else. Come _on_. Don't you at least want revenge or something?"

I know it's a fruitless—and desperate—attempt, mostly for my benefit, but I had to try.

"Stop pretending you know everything about us," she complains, voice warningly tight. "Because you don't." She hesitates. "But I _suppose_ it really wouldn't kill me to go out tomorrow. With friends."

"Good," I tell her firmly, hoping it disguises the impatience still lacing my voice. "You need it."

"You're invited, too, you know," she sighs theatrically.

"Oh." That's a bit unexpected. "I guess I'll go, then."

"You better," she threatens. "Everyone important is going, you know."

I try not to roll my eyes. Victoria is so predictable.

**::**

I am _this close_ to _murder_.

"Hey, Edward," I greet through gritted teeth. The smile plastered on my face probably isn't convincing, but Edward doesn't seem to notice.

"Hello, Bella." He leans against the doorframe casually with a smile and does that thing with his eyes that everyone else calls smoldering. I call it irritating. "I just thought I'd stop in and see how you're doing so far. Do you find this summer to your liking?"

He can't be serious. He just can't. Did he recite that in front of a mirror?

"I'm fine," I confirm. "Everything's great. Now I really have to—"

"What have you been up to?" he interrupts.

I purse my lips. "Nothing. Nothing at all." Then, of course, I want to slap myself. Sure, give him an open invitation. "Well, I mean, I have been busy...but with boring stuff. So it feels like nothing…"

Why am I such a horrible liar?

"Myself included," he says. "I've been reading a lot. I decidedly don't prefer classics."

I scowl. "I think classics are _wonderful_."

"Anyway, I heard you went back to Washington for a few days."

"How did you—"

"It seems as though you have a significant emotional attachment to that place."

"Well, yes, I do, because—"

"It's hard to let go of things you're emotionally attached to…" His gaze purposefully lingers on me.

He could not be _any_ more obvious.

"So I was thinking," he goes on. "Since we've both been doing nothing, I thought, instead of continuing that routine…perhaps we could waste time together."

I feel very close to slipping over the edge. Very close.

And who the hell even talks like that?

"Well, I was actually planning on going _back_ to Forks soon," I lie. "I might move there after graduation."

Like I'd ever go back there. Hate and hurt and deception—

"Oh," Edward replied, obviously wounded. "Well, I only want the best for you. I want you to be happy." He hesitates. "Is it because of Jacob Black?"

I see red. I don't know why. It just…infuriates me. _Edward_ infuriates me. Who the hell does he think he is, asking about that?

"Okay," I tell him, voice hard as steel, "I've been trying to be nice, because that's the polite thing to do and I'm _usually_ not a bitch. But are you absolutely clueless? Do you even _know_ how to pick up subtle hints? Because there've been a lot of them."

"Bella, I didn't—"

"And if you haven't noticed, _we're not friends_. Not at all. Even if we were, anything to do with Jacob would be none of your _goddamn_ business. So go find someone else to annoy with your…wordiness…and leave me the hell alone!"

I barely register the blank look of shock in Edward's face before I slam the door, breathing heavily. I lean my forehead against the wall and groan.

Did I really just do that? Say those words? _Me_? The guilt begins to settle, but it's not enough to weigh me down. I think I'm relieved. After that, Edward would be out of his mind to come back and try to talk to me. I hope. Maybe I'll even spontaneously become religious and _pray_ he leaves me alone.

I exhale, feeling as though I've run a marathon, and sprawl out on the couch.

**::**

**Subject:** _Jacob Black sent you a message on Facebook_.  
**Subject:** _Jacob Black sent you a message on Facebook_.  
**Subject: **_Jacob Black sent you a message on Facebook_.

What the...?

It repeats fifteen more times.

He sent me _eighteen_ messages in the past five days. Eighteen. Fucking. Messages. Most of which were frantic apologies, inquiries as to whether I was okay (he asked me if I was alive at least three times), and more lengthy apologies. I skim through and delete them without replying, heavily regretting the impulsive decision to check my e-mail.

**::**

The mall is crowded, and it's pissing me off.

When Victoria said "everyone important" was coming, she actually meant people I've hardly even seen before. And that pisses me off, too.

I pretty much want to smash everything into little bits and pieces.

Then something catches my eye—a long, dark head of hair. I can only see the back of it, and it's so maddening that I can't see anything else…

"Come _on_," Victoria urges, pulling on my hand. "Everyone else is already at the food court. Why are you staring into space?"

"I'm not." I pull my hand away swiftly. "I'm coming. Just a second."

When I look back, it's gone, and I shrug to myself. I get fixated on the strangest things these days.

We find the rest of the group in no time. They're not exactly inconspicuous—they're actually quite loud and obnoxious. The French exchange student named Laurent (I'm not exactly sure why he's not back in France yet) is talking very loudly with his blatant accent that I think he might actually be playing up, Rosalie Hale and someone named Garrett are arguing over a five dollar bill, and Emmett McCarty has just knocked over two uncapped soda bottles.

Oh, God, I'm going to have the _worst_ headache.

Victoria grins at Emmett and waves cheerfully. Everyone waves back. My mood darkens and I wonder how much effort it would take for _me_ to act that bright.

I sit at a lone table for about ten minutes before anyone notices I'm there. I would have introduced myself, but they've been talking so much, I don't think there would have been room for it.

Finally, Emmett asks, "So who's this?" with a bold smirk, gesturing to me.

"Oh, that's just Bella," Victoria says. "Don't mind her. She's quiet."

I don't try to hide my glare.

"Hi, Bella," Emmett shouts with a wave, as though I have hearing problems.

"Hi." I cross my arms and scowl.

No one includes me in the conversation, and I don't try to include myself. I don't want to associate with these shallow, obnoxious, self-absorbed teenagers. I stare at the floor. For how long, I'm not sure, but it feels like a century.

Before they traipse off to some other location, Victoria is kind enough to notify me.

"C'mon, stop zoning," she says, clearly amused.

I shrug, eyes still dead, and follow.

But something stops me, and my heart skips a beat.

That long, dark hair—only this time, it comes with a face. He looks around sixteen or seventeen, Native American. Angular features, bronzed skin, big grin, smiling eyes…

It's like a younger Jacob—the one I _know_.

I nudge Victoria, who stopped when I did and now looks exasperated and confused.

"Look at him," I whisper, furtively pointing to the boy.

"So?" she hisses. "He's not even that cute, Bella. He's skinny, and he needs to do something about that girly hair—"

"No," I breathe impatiently. "That's not what I meant. He looks _just_ like Jacob."

Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms. Victoria is annoyed. "I wouldn't know, and honestly, I don't care. Let's go, we need to catch up with the rest of the group."

I hold up a hand. "Wait. Or…actually, you can go. I'll catch up." I begin to walk in the opposite direction.

Victoria rushes to my side. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

I wave her off. "Nowhere, go find your friends."

This time she stops, and I walk faster toward the Jacob look-alike. I have no idea what I'm doing and why—my legs are carrying me to this boy I've never seen before today without my brain's consent, and it's strangely numbing.

When his friends realize I'm headed for them, each of them stares at me blankly. That doesn't earn much of my attention, though, because I'm too busy looking at _him_.

"Hi," I greet the boy automatically, and come to a halt in front of him. "I'm Bella."

He smiles a little, looking bemused. "Hi. I'm, uh…Mark."

"You don't look like a Mark," I muse.

I only realize I said it out loud when he awkwardly says, "Oh," looking back to his friends and drumming his fingers on the back of his chair. "Right."

"Yo, Bella," calls one of the friends with a cocky smile. "You can hang with us. We're getting drinks later."

"She better have a fake ID," laughs a second guy. "She's total jailbait."

"They don't check that shit where we go," says Mark. "I only get in 'cause I go with you guys. If she gets real dressed up and puts on dark makeup, she'll look older."

Guy number two laughs. "Dude, did you learn that from your sister?"

"Ah, man, she's hot."

"Shut the fuck up about my sister, Chris."

My mouth opens to accept the offer, but I stop myself last minute, envisioning a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head.

What the _hell_ am I _doing_? I don't even know this Mark guy. I don't know any of these guys. That, and they don't exactly seem like good company.

"Gotta go," I mumble, and half-run back to Victoria.

She's still gawking, but when she gets close enough, she yanks me by the arm and drags me out of the food court.

"What the hell was that?" she fumes. "They were probably ten years older than us!"

"I just…thought I knew one of them."

She scoffs angrily. "Whatever, Bella. You're insane."

"_I'm_ insane?" I say under my breath, but she doesn't hear me. Now that I think about it, that's probably a good thing.

"Let's go," she growls, and we set off to find the rest of the group.

**::**

The rest of the day consists of me trailing behind everyone and keeping my mouth shut. I conclude very early on that Victoria isn't speaking to me.

As we leave, I worry about the trip home. She has to drive me since that's how I got here, and Renee is working, which is so inconvenient.

"Did you want to get something to eat?" I ask quietly. "You haven't had anything all day."

Her irritation permeates the air as she grips the steering wheel harder and replies, "I'm trying to lose fifteen fucking pounds, Bella. What do _you_ think?"

"Sorry for asking," I muttered sarcastically.

The silence is tense. I don't realize I'm biting my nails until Victoria snaps, "That's a disgusting habit, you know."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I nearly shout. "What did I do to make you so pissed off?"

She laughs without humor. "Oh, no, it's not like you ditched me to talk to a bunch of strange men that were probably going to drug and rape you."

"You don't even know them," I say defensively. She probably has a point, though.

"Yeah. Neither do you."

"I'm turning eighteen in September, Victoria. They probably thought I was in college. And besides, the one I pointed out is around my age—"

"Oh, just shut the hell up, Bella," she shouts. "You've been acting really fucking weird lately, you know that?"

I scoff. "_Me_? You're the one that's obsessing over extra weight that you _don't_ have, and an ex-boyfriend that won't even look at you!"

"Don't you _dare_ fucking bring that up when you're still obsessed with Jacob!" she snarls. "The only reason you went to talk to those guys was because that one kid looked like him. You said it yourself."

I take two very, very deep breaths. "Fine," I say slowly. "I shouldn't have done that. It was stupid. Now can you please calm down?"

That only seems to make her more furious. "Oh, I see what this is," she growls. "Admitting you did wrong, just so you can shove it in my face later?"

I blink, mystified and frankly shocked. "What…?"

"And God—it's like you don't even _realize_ how much of a hypocrite you are!" she rants on. "You tell me I need to get over James when you can't even do it yourself with Jacob. Yeah, I know I still talk about James sometimes, but I don't act like I'm gonna die without him! Jesus Christ, Bella, I'm sick of this!"

…I don't have a response.

Because maybe she's right.

"Don't expect me to stick around to watch you mope," she finishes coldly, and slams on the breaks. We've arrived at my house.

I don't say anything, because really, there's nothing for me to say. Victoria is right. It doesn't matter that she's just about as insane as I am, and it doesn't even matter that I let her walk all over me—because she's always right.

**::**

Alice comes to visit again after a week of—yes, I admit it—moping. Even Renee snapped at me a few times for being irritable. Seeing Alice lightens my mood considerably.

"I thought you went back to Seattle before Charlie and I left for Forks," I tell her. "What are you doing here? Don't you have to work?"

"I took a week off," she says, grinning. "A friend is in town and I thought we'd get together before he goes home."

I have no idea what she's talking about, but it sounds suspicious. "You came here to visit a…friend? Couldn't you just stay in Seattle until he gets back?"

Alice laughs a little. "Oh, I guess I forgot to mention he lives in Texas. We met last time I was here."

"So you came all the way to Phoenix to see some Texan guy that you met _once_."

She sighs. "His name is Jasper Hale, not 'Texan guy'. And I came here to see you and Renee, but I just thought it would be nice to let Jasper know I'd be in town, because he mentioned he'd be here again."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes. "So how long are you going to be here?"

"Until Wednesday, so that gives us about three days of driving your mom insane." She beams.

**::**

The good thing about family is that no matter how much time has passed since you last saw each other, you don't really grow apart as friends do. Alice and I can still talk about anything together. It's so refreshing to have someone _understand_.

First, I didn't plan on telling her anything about my visit to Forks—because who would really want to hear all that?

But Alice is an insistent person.

It comes out of nowhere. We're in the living room watching the kind of movies you watch strictly for nostalgic purposes, because an adult could not possibly enjoy them if they didn't have childhood memories attached to them.

Such as _Zenon: Girl of the 21__st__ Century_.

I notice her beginning to zone out when she stops laughing hysterically at every other line, or talking about how unrealistic the plot is. Then she stops watching altogether and stares out the window.

"Well, obviously you're keeping something from me if you won't walk about it," she muses, chin propped up in one hand.

My heart skips a beat, because I know what she means, but I decide to play dumb. "What are you talking about?"

"Forks."

I hesitate. "Oh. Uh, no, of course not. It was…fun. All good things happened."

"I know when you're lying," she says darkly. "So don't try."

_Shit_. I was doing so good ignoring it…

"Well, since I'm not talking about it, obviously I don't want to," I say vaguely, trying my best to brush off her curiosity. "It'd just bore you, anyway. It's a long story."

"Bella!" she exclaims, seeming to be personally offended. "How could you think that? You can talk to me about anything! And you know how I like barging into people's lives! This stuff is _interesting_."

I bite my lip. "Okay. It's…it's…I don't know. I'm just confused."

Keeping eye contact with me, Alice pauses the movie, sits up straight and folds her hands, therapist style. She means business.

"Tell me what happened," she says. I've heard that question at least six times from my mother since I got back, and this is the first time I'm not irked by it.

"Jacob kissed me," I blurt. It probably isn't a good place to start, but I've never been very good at storytelling.

I can see Alice tries to remain calm for a fraction of a second, but there was really no chance. She's naturally excitable. "What?" she cries. "Oh my god, tell me everything from the beginning. And I mean that literally."

My eyes widen. "You can't possibly mean—"

"Oh, I do," she assures me. "I only know that I got you guys together, like, forever ago."

"All right," I say bleakly. "I give in."

She squeals. "I'm your favorite cousin, aren't I?"

"You're my only cousin." I sigh. "Okay. So…Jacob and I started going out on my thirteenth birthday…which you already know."

Her smile grows as she nods. "You two were _so_ adorable."

"Everything was perfect," I say quietly. "He was perfect. At least, that's what I thought."

"No one is perfect," Alice tells me immediately.

I nod. "Yeah. Around springtime, I noticed his parents were fighting a lot and he started hanging out with the rez kids."

"What's wrong with them?" she asks.

I guess I need to work on hiding my bitterness. After all, looking back, they probably didn't do anything wrong.

"Before all that, Jake was afraid of them," I explain. "He said they were like a cult. Everyone loved them, though. So when Jacob started hanging around them…I sort of got it into my head that they brainwashed him or something, because he started being really reckless—diving off cliffs and stuff—and he never talked to me anymore. I was jealous, too, because Jake paid more attention to them than he did to me."

Alice nods slowly, but doesn't have a response yet, so I continue. Why not? I'm on a roll.

"He broke up with me not too long after that," I say grudgingly. "I probably should have seen it coming, but I didn't, being so young and completely clueless about relationships."

"Understandable."

I take a deep breath. This is where it gets interesting. "It was…weird after that. He pretty much avoided me, but sometimes he'd try and talk. Like, he'd wave at me when we were at the pool. I'd always ignore him because I was so angry. But one day I started to miss him more than I hated him, and I waved back." I shrug weakly. "Spur of the moment decision, you know? So we talked, and it was like nothing changed."

"And you get back together, right?" Alice guesses. Incorrectly.

I shake my head. "No. We don't."

She frowns. "Oh. That's too bad." Her eyes glaze over a bit as she seems to consider something, and eventually says, "C'mon, keep going."

"Uh…right. We talked, and I was relieved because I didn't need to hide from him anymore, but the next day he acted like I didn't exist. He was with his…new friends. That just made me hate them more, because it made me think it was their fault Jacob broke up with me. So, in my mind, it was just more proof that they were controlling him. Maybe with drugs or something." I laugh weakly. "Stupid, but it was the only explanation I could think of. Now I know it was probably just him trying to look cool in front of his friends."

"Guys do that."

"Yeah. So whenever he wasn't around the rez kids, we were still best friends…but he completely ignored me around _them_. That just caused me to be more cautious around him. I felt like I couldn't trust him. So we never talked about anything meaningful, and if he tried, I'd change the subject. Like…he tried to apologize for breaking up with me. I just said it was fine and started talking about something else." I roll my eyes. "I probably should've made him beg for forgiveness."

Alice laughs. "I totally would've been on board with that. He's sounding like a real asshole."

"He's not," I counter quickly. "I mean, maybe. I don't know. That's what I'm confused about."

"You're skipping ahead," she groans. "And you were doing so well keeping this chronological."

"Sorry," I mumble. "Anyway, he started to like my best friend Jessica, and I figured, no way they'll ever go out. Jess wouldn't do that to me." I smile grimly. "Then I find out that they kissed. On a dare, but still. She told me about a day later that she liked Jacob, too. I think I told her to stay away, but she played the you're-my-best-friend-and-you-have-to-support-me-no-matter-what card." I pause. "At least Jake was more considerate," I say sarcastically. "He asked my _permission_. Like I was gonna say no! That would've made me look like a shitty friend, so I said sure, whatever makes you happy, and ran off."

Alice's face is blank as she processes everything. She gradually begins to look more and more angry. "He dated your best friend? No comment on the friend, but seriously? That's so insensitive!"

"I know," I mutter. "I didn't really see that, though, because I figured it was only a big deal to me, and they could just…I don't know…get each other out of their systems. Jessica didn't keep boyfriends for very long, anyway. But then they started making out a lot in front of me, and that's when I got a little bipolar. Sometimes I completely lashed out at them, and sometimes I put on a happy face and gushed about how cute they were together and how I was totally okay with it.

"I guess I could've just stayed away from them, but my other best friend, Angela, was always with them, and I didn't want to completely give up my life." I laugh a little. "Because that's the most important thing to a thirteen-year-old. So I tried to suck it up, but my patience didn't last long. After about a month, they were still together and Jessica kept trying to talk to me about their 'relationship'. I tried to tell her to talk about it with someone else because I really didn't want to hear it, and maybe try to decrease the make-out sessions when I was around. She just bitched at me about how I wasn't being a good friend."

Alice scoffs. "I don't like this Jessica girl. Can I go kick her ass?"

"Ali, she hardly deserves it now," I tell her with an eye-roll. "This was a long time ago."

"You talk about it like it was yesterday," she speculates. That, for some reason, chills me. "Continue," she pushes impatiently.

The only way I'm able to continue without completely breaking down is pretending like this is someone else's story. Like it holds no importance to me.

"I was a pushover, so I didn't ask her to go easy on me again. I sort of let all my emotions get shoved aside while I was around them and vented about it to Angela. She understood, for the most part, and didn't mind my ranting."

"Good thing."

"I know," I say with a small smile. "She was great. Especially when Jess and I got into this one fight. She said she loved Jacob, and I immediately got pissed off and said she didn't know anything about love and she didn't even know him…and of course she got defensive, because who wouldn't? Angela was sort of the neutralizer. She literally had to get between us and talk us down. I don't even know what she did, but it worked."

Now I'm stalling, avoiding the end, because there's no way to ignore the fact that this is still so very _real_ to me. But there isn't much else I can say, and I'm not going to lie to Alice…so after a long, hesitant pause, I finish the story in a rushed, flat tone.

"They break up and I forgive Jessica. Jacob and I don't talk much anymore. Charlie and Renee start fighting, so I get depressed, and we move here. I realize I'm definitely still in love with Jacob and think about him all the time for three years straight until I finally can't take it anymore and call him to confess my undying love for him. Of course he already got over me but I do find out he tried to get back together with me and didn't really like Jessica to begin with—oh, and he apologizes for the Jessica thing, too. I go back to Forks and we hang out. He has a new girlfriend. He starts to act all manipulative and flirty, like a totally different person, and then…well, he kisses me and I freak out." I exhale loudly. "The end."

"Jesus Christ," she mutters. "I get why you don't tell people about this. It really is a long story, isn't it?"

"Yes. It is."

She sighs. "And I see why you're confused. So am I. You didn't leave anything out, did you?"

"Nope."

"But I don't understand something," she says. "There's no chance he could still like you? Maybe just a little bit?"

"He said he didn't. Actually, I think he told me again right before we…" I hesitate. "Before I left."

"Oh," Alice mouths, looking past me to the window again.

"What is it?"

She snaps out of it and looks at me. "Oh. Nothing. It's just…you're in love with him?"

"Yeah. I…I am."

She hums to herself. "I don't understand why you do after all this time…but there must be a reason."

For a terrifying moment, I'm unsure of everything. What do I love about Jacob? That raises the dreaded question I refuse to explore again…

Yes. I love him. What other explanation is there?

"His personality," I say quietly. That's legitimate. "His eyes. His voice. Everything."

Alice carefully discerns my face. I'm suddenly worried that maybe she can read my mind, and she knows I'm doubting myself. Is it written all over my face? It must be. I try to set my features into an unreadable expression.

Eventually, Alice sighs. "But what about when you saw him? What did you _feel_?"

"The same as I did before. I…think. I was in shock or something." I'm not about to tell her how I forced myself into a zombie state as well.

"Maybe it was remembering how you felt before," she shrugs. "Or you really could still love him."

"He's really different now. I don't understand why."

"Love is crazy. No one understands it." Her lips quirk into a smile. "You'll figure it out if you really want to. You're smart…and stubborn."

"I guess so." I let out a low, subdued chuckle. "Thanks for listening to all this. You didn't have to."

Alice smiles and pulls me into a hug. I awkwardly pat her back. Not much of a hugger.

"Oh, shut up," she whispers. "If it makes you feel better, I'll make you analyze everything Jasper's ever said to me. Oh, and his body language, too, because that's crucial."

I grin. "Sounds great."

**::**

Thursday morning, the day after Alice departed, I'm woken up much too early by the sound of the phone ringing. The caller, however, surprises me enough to answer it without grumbling.

"Hello?"

"Bella!" Victoria cries. "Look, before you hang up on me—and I deserve it, I know—hear me out. I am so, so, so sorry for being such a bitch last week. It really wasn't a big deal. I don't know why I thought it was. So what? You're a little crazy. I guess I am, too. Oh, hey, maybe I was acting like that because I didn't have my daily iced coffee! You know how I am without it, right? Bella? Are you listening? Shit, did you hang up without me noticing?"

I let her ramble until she stops to take a breath. Then I tell her slowly, "I wasn't going to hang up."

"Oh, good," she breathes. "So do you forgive me?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "But only because you were right."

"I'm always right," she says matter-of-factly.

"I know."

She laughs. "So are you coming over tomorrow? I have an…idea."

"What is it?"

I hear the grin in her voice as she says gleefully, "Oh, don't worry. You'll be the first to know."

My slower-than-usual brain tries to comprehend what she means, but I come up blank.

"Uh, alright."

"See you soon!" She hangs up.

Her ideas are never good.

** ::**

The Victoria I talked to on the phone and the Victoria I'm standing in front of have significant differences.

For one, she didn't sound bitter and vengeful yesterday.

"I know who James cheated on me with," is the first thing I hear out of her mouth.

"I thought it was his girlfriend."

Her smile is off-kilter. "Nope." She reaches into her pocket and retrieves a cell phone, but not hers. I watch with confusion as she flips it open and…I really don't know what she's doing—sending someone a text?

After a moment, she turns the screen to me.

I flinch when the first thing I see is a nude girl in an extremely suggestive pose. She presses the 'next' button, and another photo appears. This time I look away after one glance.

"Okay…what the hell? Who is that?"

She smiles again. Something about it is deeply disturbing and borderline psychotic. "Rosalie Hale."

So…that was the girl James cheated with? Her name rings a bell. Do I go to school with her? Probably. But I think I remember her from somewhere else…

_The mall_. She was the standoffish one dating Emmett.

"I know her."

Victoria nods, and her expression sets into a deep scowl. "So do I. She used to be my best friend. Until now."

"Oh." What else do you say to that?

"Yeah. See, that's why it's so bad," she explains in monotone, yet I can hear a slight quaver to her voice.

"So…what's your…idea?" I'm almost afraid to hear it.

That _smile_ is back, grim and deranged. "I'm gonna send these pictures to everyone I know. Everyone she knows. Her boss, definitely. The entire school, her parents, and maybe even to people we _don't_ know for good measure. It'll be all over the internet."

All the air in my lungs escapes as I exhale sharply. I'm dumbstruck. For another good minute, I just stand there, trying to convince myself she's not serious.

That glint in her eye and the disturbing smile all serve as significant evidence proving otherwise.

"Victoria," I say urgently, "_no_. That's not right. What she did was wrong, but—"

"What do you know?" she asks calmly, now studying her nails. They're bitten to the quick. "You aren't in my situation, and you honestly don't know me well enough to judge."

Now that I look harder at her, the gaunt, crazed look of her is most likely caused by a sudden weight drop. In fact, it's so obvious that I'm surprised I didn't notice immediately. She must have lost at least ten pounds. How is that even possible?

"I know you better than you know yourself," I scoff, "and you'll regret this. Then I'll have to hear all your _fucking_ complains and try to—"

"Maybe if you weren't such a doormat," she suggests brashly, "I'd know when I was annoying you with my problems. I could have gotten you out of my life a long time ago. This is why I'm doing this to Rosalie—see? I don't like people afraid of confrontation. She should have told me she was a slutty bitch beforehand, and things would have played out much differently." She pauses thoughtfully. "For her, anyway."

"That's pretty hypocritical coming from you," I snap, "seeing as you never confront anyone."

Without missing a beat, her eyes focus on me, cold and hard as stone. "Don't call me a hypocrite."

"Okay," I laugh sarcastically, "now that I confronted you, you're telling me not to? You're. A. Hypocrite."

Her eye twitches, and I have to look away. It's like she's deteriorating. Unraveling sentence by sentence.

"Look, if you don't do this—" she threatens, but I cut her off.

"What? Are you going to fight me? You know I won't fight back."

Her eye twitches twice. "Trust me, whatever I do, you won't like it."

I stand up, look back at her with a hardened gaze, and cross my arms. "I'm having no part in destroying Rosalie's life. What the _fuck_ possessed you to be so crazy all of a sudden?"

She smiles smugly, and before she starts talking, I mutter, "Never mind. I don't want to know."

I walk out the door. Every step I take is calculated so that I'm sure she can't be following me, because that fear settling in somehow seems rational now. It's the fastest I've ever walked in my entire life.

**::**

My mind gradually unfreezes with every tap of my finger against the wooden coffee table. Phil has been giving me quizzical looks, and Renee has actually shaken me, but no one will get a response.

I thought I knew her. I didn't think she was capable of something so…drastic.

Well, no. I've always known that she is, but she's always had a big heart. How could she become this selfish, unreasonable person, seemingly out of nowhere?

Maybe I never knew her as well as I thought I did. It makes sense. If I add up all the clues…

She said I wasn't close enough to her to know about the whole situation with James. In fact, I never knew she was even friends with Rosalie, but now she's talking about being best friends with her. Come to think of it…she never said _we_ were best friends. Maybe that's because she was the only friend I was willing to get close to, and it only seemed that way to me.

She's right—I'm a doormat. I do follow her around like a lost puppy. And I've never noticed because it's never even bothered me. Just how skewed is my perception? Have I just been manipulating myself into thinking we were close? That she's _actually_ a good friend?

An unpleasant stab of familiarity jolts me.

Everything I do, every situation I find myself in, everyone I know…they all lead me to him. To Jacob. Is this supposed to happen, or am I just really screwed up in the head? It's starting to look that way.

Everything is so unclear.

But one little details pokes its head out from all the chaos—something that's been dormant all this time, but there nonetheless.

I thought life here could be predictable and safe and even perfect. It turns out that's not really the case. Victoria's issues sprouted out of nowhere as far as I can tell…but in Forks, I already know all the conflict that could ever happen.

Maybe Jessica and I will see each other again and be friends. Or maybe we won't be. See? I just predicted that. If one of those happens, I'm golden. As long as it doesn't take me by surprise.

Perhaps Jake actually wants to give me another chance. Or…not. We could grow apart, or be friends, or maybe even enemies. All reasonable.

There's nothing else that could rearrange my perception too deeply. Phoenix already has. What's left for me here? Psychotic ex-friend? Drama surrounding Rosalie Hale's downfall and shame, while I sheepishly join Victoria again because there's nowhere else to turn? I don't want to be a part of that.

I have to move back to Forks. I have to immerse myself in that life again, if only to understand it…and understand myself.

I know. Nothing I'm saying makes sense. This isn't even a fully-formed plan, not to mention stupid, but I don't _belong_ here anymore. I guess I never really did. I hate the sun and the people and something about the atmosphere. This place is too hot, too unpredictable, too dull and brown and _not Forks_.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm definitely not an author who begs for reviews, and this probably won't even be mentioned again...but they do help an awful lot :) I'd love for you to tell me what you thought of the chapter! If I did something wrong or you didn't like the direction the story took, let me know, because that's the only way I get feedback (I don't have a beta). Then again, if you're a lurker and feel uncomfortable reviewing, I totally respect that, because I've been there. It's just encouraging have some reinforcement, and gives me inspiration to continue writing. :)


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